I Am Depressed And Hate My Life
I am a shadow of my former self. No longer do I even remember what the girl in the mirror looked like, but I hate the image I see now. I have spent the last few years distancing myself from human love and empathy in a sick perverted way of protecting myself, but still something fell through the cracks. My biggest mistake was to let myself feel again. Foolish choice. The sooner you leave a hole in your defenses, the quicker you find the knife in your back. And it hurts. I can deal with the pain, but not the emotional damage. Not enough whiskey and stitches to fix that festering wound. Might have to burn it out. Cauterize the infection before it kills me. It will probably hurt. Hell. I expect it will be agonizing. Performing open heart surgery is hard enough. But trying to gather the glass shards of what remains of your fragile aspect of love, pull them out of your tender flesh, and renove it entirely? It will be agony. But they say, as soon as its gone, it won't hurt anymore. What's left will be a phantom limb. A beating heart? Sure. It will function as well as it always has. But no need for the soul. Its only ever cost you. Toss it aside, with all of your passions and joys. No need for it in this world. It sells for little on the market as it stands. Better in the trash. But I am stalling. Just rambling with shaking hands, unready to tear out my soul. But it hurts to bad to keep it. And I don't see a use for it in the future. After this, I will get a door mat. Better for people to wipe their feet off that after feelings are gone. Well. Here I go. Doctor. I need 3 shots of whiskey stat.
26-30, F
