In my depth

I have been struggling with severe depression lately, so I thought I would spill my guts on a page because I am distracting myself from the dark outside.

There is a deep confusion inside of my mind, a pure need but my thoughts are running away from their duties, and I cannot seem to find my way. I noticed the older I am the more I realize how hard life is, I thought when I was younger dealing with the abuse of others could not be worse, and though that is true I am not sure how much better I feel being older and on my own. Every decision I make I think about whether or not it was the right one or the ‘good’ one, and at the same time who dictates these results if not the people around me. I feel surrounded by people who cannot understand me, but I cannot blame them for I hardly understand myself.

I had a recent brush with severe poor me syndrome, it honestly happens all the time and I cannot seem to let it go. It is dreadful putrid but the moment it leaves I miss it like a dull pain in my side. When it is gone, I have nothing to complain about, no humanity of struggle and I question if this disappearance causes me unable to write when truly I do not feel I can write at all always anyways. Words do not make sense to me I do not feel anyone should bare the curse of reading what I have to say, but that is their own decision to make, whether it be ‘good’, or the right choice. I am not the one to ask.

Trembling in my skin I wish I could unzip myself and fall apart because my appearance neglects how I feel. Ribbons of skin slick with sad blood bares my trail currently but everyone seems oblivious to it. Vibrations that seep out surely pierce the skin of anyone who looks my way, sinking teeth into their empathy as I scream and beg for help. Eyes always moving away the moment of suspected tenderness. I am afraid I often inflict fear onto kind people without the intent to do so, kind, and ignorant people unable to bear my eyes for too long. Maybe they are afraid of catching the disease racing inside of me, the black muck just waiting to pounce and destroy anyone who gets too close.

Hello, it is me the darkness everyone is so afraid to feel, the monster under your bed the Mary bloody with your childhood nightmares. Being afraid is all I have ever done, I want to listen and nurture this fear and succumb to it all because if I do not then I have nothing, I am nothing. When I get to the other side, when I faced fear and the demon who lives deep inside of my right skull and belly, I come out victorious and normal. Just like you, just like every person I have met, able to live in this world and survive. I plan to survive also which is why I must write about the terrible no-good thoughts that I have. I have a lot of shame here. I want to cover up all the stains before the spill, but I learned in order to have any impact on my own life I need to make a mess of it.