Depression

How Does it Feel To be Depressed?

Jesus. It’s hard to explain. But I’ll try my best.

One second. I feel on top of the world.

One second I’m my usual, bubbly, charismatic, happy, self.

Then…in a second,

Everything.

Can.

Change.

I’m sick of feeling like this.

Like I’m falling into a bottomless pit.

Like there’s a thunderstorm raging over my head 24/7

And some days.

Some rare occasions, it decides to stay sunny!

And I feel happy.

But only for a minute or two.

Then I’m left feeling empty and hollow.

Like I’m a puzzle that the child putting me together lost the final piece and just left me sitting there unfinished, on the living room floor; Helpless until the day he decides to find the drive to look for the missing piece.

And if he does, then maybe, just maybe I’ll be complete.

But if he doesn’t I’ll be swept up and discarded into the nearest trash bin.

Because what use am I then?

I’m a broken puzzle with a missing piece.

I’m of no use to anyone.

Because I’m not considered beautiful if I have a missing puzzle piece.

I’m considered “trash” to society.

Hah. It’s kind of ironic.

Isn’t it?

That’s how I feel in life at this moment.

Like I’m that puzzle.

With a missing piece.

I want so bad to be something in this world.

But what can I give?

What can I do?

Who can I be?

I am nothing!

I will always be a puzzle with a missing piece.

I’m a jewelry box without music.

I used to sing but my owner and her “friends” used my music so much they broke me.

Because my music comes from the inside I’m broken and no one is able to fix me.

I’ll never be able to sing my sweet melody again.

 Because they used my music to their selfish advantage they broke me.

Now. Because of their selfishness.

I no longer sing.

And it’s all their fault.

I’m sure there are others like me.

I wish I could meet them.

Just to know that I’m not the only one who feels like this.

Just to have someone to cry with.

To have someone to share my pain with.

To have someone who understands.

Really Understands.

Not someone who just says they do.

I’m a broken china plate.

He threw me to the floor in anger at his wife.

He apologized but that didn’t make it better.

I’m shattered and in pieces.

No amount of glue or solvent is able to fix my cracks.

I’m now trash.

A hazard to their small child who plays in their tiny kitchen.

A danger to the soles of their bare feet when they walk into the room wanting to make dinner.

Tiny, barely noticeable, pieces of me will still be left behind until I’m swept away after a few tries.

I’ll never be remembered even though I once meant a lot.

Or at least I thought I did

I’m a broken china plate.

What good am I now?

I’m not.

I’m a wilted rose.

I used to smell so sweet.

My fragrance made people happy.

Sure, I had thorns, but everyone knew that!

Doesn’t everyone?

We all have flaws and little quirks.

The point is someone has to love us for them!

Right?

Wrong.

That’s what I thought.

I trusted too much.

That’s what killed me.

I waited patiently as all the other roses around me blossomed.

I was still growing.

My gardener checked in on me each day smelling my still blooming rosebud and whispering words of encouragement.

Helping me grow strong.

Finally I bloomed and looked around.

I smiled but it quickly faded as I realized something.

I was too late.

The other roses had already been picked for the floral shop.

And the cold truth of reality set in.

I was going to die.

It grew colder and I felt my strength deteriorate into nothing.

Finally I shriveled and shrunk back as I took in my last breath of the sweet air.

I learned something in the short time I lived though.

The less you let people in the less likely you are to get hurt.

And the better you are in the long run.

It’s much better for everyone to limit your trust in people.

Because if you don’t let them in.

They can’t hurt you.

Don’t be so sad Linzie! Cheer Up Girl! J

Do you even understand what you’re telling me?

That’s like stabbing yourself with a knife and telling yourself to “Stop bleeding”

It’s just not going to happen.

I HATE THIS FEELING.

My parents think they can fix this with more “medication”

Or more “Therapy”

Or some more God awful “Mental Facility Visits”

They don’t understand.

No one does.

It just really sucks.

I also really hate when people say they can “help” me.

No. You can’t.

I don’t think anyone can.

“I’m sorry you feel this way. I’ll be here if you wanna talk! Love you. ”

Hahaha! You’re cute.

What if I told you, you’re one of the reasons I’m depressed?

But I don’t say a word because I’m too nice to treat you the way you constantly treat me.

I wish you could see the way you treat me.

How fake and two-faced you act.

You’d be sick of yourself in an instant and wouldn’t put up with even a fourth of the crap I do.

You’re lucky I’m too nice.

I would never be mean to you.

Because I know you sometimes feel like this too.

And I would never do this to someone who would even remotely feel this way.

I wouldn’t do this to anyone regardless.

But especially someone who does.

I’m too caring.

I should stop.

I really should.

But I can’t.

I literally can’t.

I’m a tenderhearted and caring person.

And that will probably be the death of me.

At the current moment I feel like I’m at the edge of the cliff.

The walls around me are closing in and suffocating me slowly.

I have two options.

I can jump.

Or I can stay and be smothered.

I don’t like either option too much honestly.

I mean who would?

Exactly.

I have friends.

But I hardly do stuff with them anymore.

I usually just sit in my room and write.

If I’m not working at Wal-Mart you can find me in my room on my computer, writing.

That’s my escape.

Through words. Linked occasionally with music.

Some people have

Art.

Painting

Drawing.

Making stuff out of clay or whatever.

Art.

Some people have

Music.

Playing the Guitar.

The bass.

Playing the Piano.

The keyboard.

Singing Screamo.

Doing Mash-ups.

Music.

I have

Words

Poetry

Free-Style

Haiku’s

Limericks

Sonnets

Novels

Short Stories

Song Lyrics

Or just random blurbs.

Like this.

I write how I feel.

Just to get it out.

This is me. This is what I’m feeling.

Depression Sucks.

I don’t want help. But I think I need it…

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