I Battle Depression
Enough with the metaphors...enough with the quotes that are supposed to phrase things in ways to make people feel sorry for you. Enough. Let's be real.
I'm lazy. I'm scared of being uncomfortable. I'm afraid of violence...of malicious actions and paranoid of those I don't know. I have always, always, always taken the easiest way in life. Even before I was like this; before the depression turned me weak and frail in mind. My body is not weak, but I don't care to use it for anything but self hatred.
I cling too hard to things that make me happy, unhealthily so. I use them as a reason to be happy, and when I lose them I use the loss as a reason to be sad. I am selfish....I'm always trying to help people to feel good, but I also take it a step further and have to be their number one confidant. I have to have their undivided attention; by that I mean that if they go to other people as well as me, I get jealous. Good people don't do that. Unselfish people don't do that.
I don't have very good morals. I do believe I'm a good person, but when you fool around with someone who was a good friend and has a fiance, 'break' or not, you cannot claim you are a good person.
I consistently use metaphors and identify with stupid ass emo quotes to try to explain my poor pain that I magnify because I'm so lonely and just want someone to talk to. Those metaphors are bullshit. Cliff this, wind blowing me around, blah blah blah. Truth is, I'm in a storage room, 6 foot 5, sleeping on a hard ass floor and barely fitting. The only possession I have worth value is my computer. I've got no job, contributed nothing to society in the past 5 years, and constantly sit around crying in my own little self pity party.
There's no fucking cliff. It's just me constantly jumping from happy to sad, trying to push myself to suicide even though it's the last fucking thing I want. I'm too addicted to what makes me feel good. I'll spare you from the first, but food, showers, bed...etc.....
My life isn't bad at all. But I've allowed my brain to get so fogged, so torn up by fear, that I am not equipped to handle a life full of ups and downs.
I have ruined myself. I have allowed myself to become a husk that seeks out attention and kindness....while giving it out as much as I can so I feel like I still have an excuse for being alive.
I am nothing. I am addicted to the sadness. To crying. To hating myself. Methadone can't save me. Xanax can't save me. I can't save me.
And that's the fucking truth.
I'm lazy. I'm scared of being uncomfortable. I'm afraid of violence...of malicious actions and paranoid of those I don't know. I have always, always, always taken the easiest way in life. Even before I was like this; before the depression turned me weak and frail in mind. My body is not weak, but I don't care to use it for anything but self hatred.
I cling too hard to things that make me happy, unhealthily so. I use them as a reason to be happy, and when I lose them I use the loss as a reason to be sad. I am selfish....I'm always trying to help people to feel good, but I also take it a step further and have to be their number one confidant. I have to have their undivided attention; by that I mean that if they go to other people as well as me, I get jealous. Good people don't do that. Unselfish people don't do that.
I don't have very good morals. I do believe I'm a good person, but when you fool around with someone who was a good friend and has a fiance, 'break' or not, you cannot claim you are a good person.
I consistently use metaphors and identify with stupid ass emo quotes to try to explain my poor pain that I magnify because I'm so lonely and just want someone to talk to. Those metaphors are bullshit. Cliff this, wind blowing me around, blah blah blah. Truth is, I'm in a storage room, 6 foot 5, sleeping on a hard ass floor and barely fitting. The only possession I have worth value is my computer. I've got no job, contributed nothing to society in the past 5 years, and constantly sit around crying in my own little self pity party.
There's no fucking cliff. It's just me constantly jumping from happy to sad, trying to push myself to suicide even though it's the last fucking thing I want. I'm too addicted to what makes me feel good. I'll spare you from the first, but food, showers, bed...etc.....
My life isn't bad at all. But I've allowed my brain to get so fogged, so torn up by fear, that I am not equipped to handle a life full of ups and downs.
I have ruined myself. I have allowed myself to become a husk that seeks out attention and kindness....while giving it out as much as I can so I feel like I still have an excuse for being alive.
I am nothing. I am addicted to the sadness. To crying. To hating myself. Methadone can't save me. Xanax can't save me. I can't save me.
And that's the fucking truth.
