It’s hard knowing that sometimes the people we love don’t trust us.
Personally, I can’t blame them. In the past, I lied quite a lot. It was part of my effort to conceal how badly I felt; I remembered how hard my friends and family took it after my first suicide attempt. When I realized that I was getting worse, I didn’t think that anything could be done to help; after all, I thought, nothing had kept me from getting worse, so I didn’t think anything would help me get better.
Now, I realize that the impulse to lie, to conceal how I felt was itself a part of my depression. It was one of the most insidious parts of depression as an illness; it seemed to almost have a mind, a will of its own, to keep itself growing more serious until it killed me.And yet, there is no scan that will show depression, no blood test that will make it reveal itself.
I have friends here who don’t always trust me, either, but that is more understandable, at least to me. They have reasons to not trust me, or anyone, really. Whether because of severe anxiety, or trauma, or their own depression, or any one of a number of other issues, they each have reasons not to trust other people. There’s not much I can do about that, except be someone who I hope is worth trusting.
It’s times like this I know that just because the people we love sometimes don’t trust us doesn’t mean they care any less.