I don’t care

I don’t care.  I don’t care if I suffer a little; I don’t care if I die; I don’t care if I’m taking care of myself, or my things, or my life.  I don’t care.

That’s a big part of experiencing major depression: I leave problems unaddressed because I don’t care if I’m made to suffer a little more – I’m always suffering and have no especial interest in my own well-being.  I am meant to suffer, meant to be miserable – my depression tells me so.

So if I don’t go the doctor when I should.  Don’t seek help when I should.  Don’t try when I should.  It’s because I want to fail – or at least the depression wants me to.

People tell you: “Don’t let your mental illness be an excuse”

An excuse for what?  For having mental illness?  For suffering the very symptoms that your mental illness imposes upon you?

“Stop behaving like a Schizophrenic!” (is what they’re actually saying) – but I’m Schizoaffective, half my diagnosis is Schizophrenia … you want me to stop having the drawbacks that come with being Schizophrenic?

I wish I could comply.  Despite popular opinion, I don’t really want to be miserable all the time – and neither does any other person who suffers from mental illness – so stop treating us like we do.

Or don’t … I don’t care.