The jury is still out.

I guess.

To be able to change my idea of what I am I have to change my view of other people. I can't claim being sorta an okay person, made, molded, formed and very much forced into certain roles, if I excuse the roles other people had in that process.
But that might raise more questions I can't answer. Guilt. Responsibility.
At what point is a child responsible for the actions of his parents? You make me punish you. You do this to me. You drive me to my death. You force me to hit you till you stop crying.
At what age? I was made to believe that it was me. And I have to call it belief since there is no valid, reasonable arguments to proof that it was me. Yet belief is always more strong than facts. I know when my mother hit me, nobody forced her to do that, certainly not me, since well, I don't really enjoy getting smacked.
Hit me baby one more time. I know, but still I can't believe it.

Back to being depressed or not. Did I want to die when I was 12? I don't think so. I can remember the panic after I failed to die. Oh god, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, let me be able to destroy all evidence I tried this, she will kill me if she finds out. Which is hilarious in a very disturbing way.
Did I want to die when I tried it again when I was 16? I'm not sure there. I was mad when I woke up and noticed I was still alive. Because I should have died. I was so sure I would make it. My last two coherent thoughts before the overdose of meds took over were: It's silly to spend my last moment alive reading this stupid trashcomic. I should climb on the roof so they will never get me down in time. Hum, is wanting to end something so badly you want to die the same as wanting to die? I'm not sure.
When I was 12 there was no visible other way out for me. I cared enough to want it to end. It was the thought that the future would not get better. It would probably go worse, it could only go worse. Realizing you have no control, that there is nothing you can do to change anything for the better is the key here. I was not depressed at that point. I think noticing that there really was no way out, since death wasn't for me either, could be called depressed. The point where I stopped caring about what happened to me. I can't fight this, I can't change this, I can't end this, why bother.
And I guess I have that ever since. Looking ahead in futures that will not be better and no matter how hard I try I can't make it right. Be it because I'm a failure and no good, be it because I'm insane in a confusing world, be it that everything will always be the same, in the end it doesn't matter. Since that's how it is.
Taking these meds actually keep me going on in a sorta vague depressed state, since I can't be bothered really to change something. Wanting to end life as it is, is that last spasm of a fighting organism. And anything alive and kicking is not depressed.