I Pretend Like I Am Not Depressed

I’ve become the woman that, I always dreaded. That bitter type that is somewhat like a vampire. I suck the blood of my loved ones. I crave to bite the unsuspecting. The bully that picks on the weak. My middle name is misery. Bringing that huge black cloud everywhere that I go. The nasty narcissist that isn’t ever happy for anyone. I let down everyone that ever trusted me. Zero percent of a backbone. I have completely abandoned all my goals, instead I gloat and plot how I can punish everyone and anyone. Classic psycho path. Yet I am a coward. This sums up my life. Don’t get me wrong in a way, I can be harmless. Perhaps that’s the voice of reason trying to tell me that I am my own worst critic. The unhappy fool. Drowning in a sea of uncertainty. Sure I have many talents, yet to put any of them to use. Pure intentions of tying to be happy, I feel like the living dead, a zombie that is watching the whole world move in the speed of light. Tempted to improve, the lover of lust, hater of love. Crippled by fear of improving, sitting in silence, solemn solitude. My soul aches, my spirit bound unable to escape, my body overwhelmed by constant shock. I cry wanting to be held like an infant. The poor orphan burdened by neglect. Dear god help me, I haven’t lost all hope I promise. How ever that promise seems not worthy to keep. How I failed. My enemies are smiling very wide, proving them wrong is pointless. Many moments I have been given chance after chance to change, relentless, no mercy.