I want to be Alive

Depression.

It’s everywhere, going by every mouth and through every ear.

It’s spoken as a joke, and as a serious confession.

Either way it leads to pills, dark thoughts, and disappointments.

Disappointments.

Worse than depression.

The cause of depression.

The reason I don’t move forward.

The reason I hate myself because why would I want to disappoint the people I look up to? Why would I want to rip apart the only thing that’s keeping them up?

Support.

It’s both hollow and uplifting.

Can be the thing that flies me up or crash me down so hard that I can’t feel a thing.

And when I have depression, I sometimes don’t want to get up.

I just want to lay there and rot.

The process will repeat again so why try?

Hate.

The hate in myself.

Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I escape?

The more and more I beat myself up, the more and more depression is winning.

And I let it.

I wallow up in self-pity and loathing.

Why can’t I be stronger?

WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO GO WRONG!?

…

Oh right, it’s me.

I let it get to me.

I let it grow.

I let it consume me.

Victim blaming.

Not just from others but from myself.

Worse than depression.

The cause of depression.

Because why blame the cause when you can blame the effect?

Tears.

A physical representation of suppressed emotions, or the lack there of.

The ending to the beginning, or the beginning to the ending.

Fighting.

Fighting for my sanity and happiness.

The only thing keeping me going.

Because in the end,

I want to be alive.