my name is Brielle Lang, and this is (some of) my story
Most of you reading this blog right now have some sort of connection with me. We may have grown up together and lived in the same home town, maybe we’re classmates, best friends, used to be best friends, or wanna be best friends (that’s for you Ash!). Or maybe we met at a camp, talked once or twice at some public get together, or we’re fine and dandy Facebook buddies! For the rest of you, we may not even know each other, but if you’re reading this right now, I’m talking directly to you. Not the people you “imagine or picture in your head”. I’m talking to you and you only. So let’s start all over, my name is Brielle Lang, and this is (some of) my story.
Since age 12, I have been aware of the disease that haunts me. I always knew something was wrong, but I could never fully comprehend it (and to this day things don’t make sense). This sickness is like a poison. It’s slow and painful, yet at the same time its rapid like a fire, a deadly flame that burns from the inside, except no one knows it’s eating you alive..until you explode. Depression. It hurts. It kills.
Time and time again people have asked me, “Why you?”
“Why you Brielle? You’re perfect!”
“Why you Brielle? You have nothing to worry about! Look at your family! Look at your friends!”
“Why you Brielle?”
…and I’m here to tell you I DON’T KNOW! Depression (no matter how scientific the explanations are) cannot be defined! It can only be experienced.
At this point, some of you have no idea what I’m talking about. Your experience with “depression” has been small and over simple things, but for others of you, the words you’ve just read are words you’ve spoke over and over and over again in your mind.
Maybe for some of you it’s your past. Choices you’ve made, that no matter how hard you try to forget, keep replaying in your mind like a nightmare that never ends.
Maybe it’s abuse. Your mom. Your dad. An aunt. An uncle. A brother. A sister. A family member. A friend. A stranger…You feel worthless, disgusting. Your mind is consumed with hate, yet most of it is hate for yourself, for your life.
Maybe it’s drugs.
Whatever it is, I’m not here to throw you a pity party. I’m not writing you an apology letter or telling you that I know what you’re going through because that’s junk, and I’ve heard it too many times. I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re dealing with. Every situation is different. Every circumstance is unique. Every story is your own. However, despite everything I just said, know this: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
It took me 19 years to figure out that I was not the only person living in a world of darkness, plastering on a smile and putting on a fake mask every day because that’s what the world wants to see of us. That’s what it expects.
It took me 19 years to understand that living a life pretending to be someone you’re not isn’t living.
Am I embarrassed? No. I have waited way too long to feel embarrassed about what someone might say about me or how someone’s perception of me might change. I have waited way too long and fought way too many battles, to go hiding behind walls again.
Since age 12, I have been aware of the disease that haunts me. At age 13, I contemplated and faked my first suicide attempt. At age 14, I tried to make men my joy. At age 15, I was verbally abused and emotionally destroyed. At age 16, I fought a war with demons. At age 17, I tried to be strong. At age 18, I faked my way through my first semester of college. At age 19, I struggle, but I’m okay with not being okay.
I’m okay with myself. I’m okay with my story. No matter how broken it is, no matter how much it hurts sometimes. It is beautiful.
I wonder how many of you knew this about me. How many times have you scrolled through my pictures, not even knowing who I really was, only seeing the face of a girl? How many times have you thought of me as “that perfect christian girl” who has no worries? Once, twice, more than twice?
Those of you who know me or have read my other blogs, know that I am a follower of Christ. I know I wouldn’t be the same person I am today without fully surrendering to God and that my battle with depression has benefited from knowing Him, but I’m not here to preach to you. I’m here to stand beside you.
If you’re a boy.
A drug addict.
If you struggle with depression, I’m here to tell you: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. This doesn’t make everything easy, but it makes it worth it. It’s why when you wake up every morning you choose to say Yes. Yes to another day. Yes to another experience. Yes to another memory. Yes to pain. Yes to happiness. Yes to anger. Yes to joy.
Because one day when you wake up, you won’t have to choose anymore. You already know it’s worth it. You’ve already endured the pain. You are strong. You are brave. You are loved. You are treasured. You are independent. You are broken, BUT You are worth it.
Never stop telling yourself that.
If you struggle with depression, I’m asking you to share this post. If you don’t struggle with depression, I’m asking you to share to post.
Who knows? Maybe it will reach another pair of eyes. Another girl. Another boy. Who just needs to know that they are not alone.