it’s not your fault – a letter of apology

To all the people waiting for an apology from someone who has or is struggling with anxiety, depression or any other kind of mental health issue:

I am sorry.

I’m sorry you don’t understand what it’s like, and I’m sorry I can’t explain it to you properly. I’m sorry my brain decided to fuck itself and I’m sorry it rendered me useless, to you and to me. I’m sorry I lost the ability to put a sentence together, not in thought, not in words. I’m sorry I lost the ability to care about anything, you and me included. I’m sorry I spent 26 hours awake, running on the fumes of mania because the constant chatter in my head was keeping me awake. I’m sorry I sleep for 16 hours straight only to be awake for 2 and then sleep for another 10. I’m sorry I couldn’t look you, or anybody, in the eye, because I felt that if I did you would be able to see my bleeding soul and I was ashamed. I’m sorry I haven’t showered for a week. I’m sorry I don’t cry dramatically across the bed. I’m sorry I dare to smile when I should be ‘depressed’. I’m sorry you don’t know what that means. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry?

Are you fucking kidding me?

I am NOT sorry. What the FUCK do I have to say sorry for? You think I wished this on myself? You think I did this to annoy you? You think it was a holiday? You think being stripped of the ability to perform basic human tasks is a fucking joke? A laugh? A GAME? You think because you, too, had a rough time once but struggled through, I’m not allowed to crash? You think this is a competition? Your judging eyes and painted-on smile is telling me to EXPLAIN myself, APOLOGISE for being soft and weak, PAY YOU BACK, somehow, with words and deeds and humility. Do you think being betrayed by my own brain was a choice I willingly made? Does the cancer stricken choose the disease themselves? They can’t help it, but… but I can?

You fucking ignorant asshole prick.

It is YOU who should be sorry. It is you who should apologise.

You are sorry for assuming that I am a fraud on zero grounds.
You are sorry for deciding I am guilty until I prove myself otherwise.
You are sorry for not being able to look at me with anything but disdain.
You are sorry for not having having the guts to just fucking ask me.
You are sorry for not believing my words if you then do.
You are sorry for not understanding because it’s hurting me.
And you are sorry for being bitter waiting for that apology… because you are never, EVER going to get it.



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