Spiral... spiral... ever into the blackness, descending a cold spiral staircase that doesn't care for you. Towards the darkness which pulls you, calls you, and beckons to you.
There are thousands, millions of others and you can't see them. You can't see them because you always think that you're alone in your misery, alone in your suffering, alone in your pain.
Well you're not. I'm not. I've seen it time and time again. My two little sisters are living proof. We all live with endless amounts of pain. The same kinds of pain. Different kinds of pain. But pain. Pain indeed, and even when it's all good, we're not happy.
There's nothing too wrong with my life right now. I shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't be cutting my skin open. I shouldn't be writing words of depression. Showing thousands of people's experience but making it my own. I shouldn't be here.
But I am. I'm not fighting with my mother anymore. I'm not. Honest. We're still poor. We still live in a shithole. But I have a bed. Even if it's not comfortable in this heat. The only bad thing that's going on in my life right now, really bad, is that my grandmother's cat is dying.
I wish I were dying.
I'm jealous.
I feel like shit.
Every day I feel worse. You wouldn't tell it by looking at my frequented websites. I'm so hyper. So happy-seeming. But in the end I suffer depression, like thousands of other people.
Someone's doing a documentary on cutting. They want people to interview from the GTA. I'm volunteering. And I think I'm going to write something. Something about cutting. Something about depression. For all those idiots out there who just. Don't. Get. It.
Because there are these stigmas. This misunderstanding. I hope that someday the world over will understand it. Will understand me, and those I hope to speak for. Those of ours who cry crimson. Those of us who can't stand it anymore. Those of us who are lost in the blackness.
Please. Please listen.
I have stories to tell you...
Add Comments
Comments (2)
