There are days when the sadness is tangible, like the blood on my bitten lips.
Those are the better days, at least then I cry myself out. At least then I understand what drives me.
Then there days like today. I read a whole book. I didn't like the way it ended and that I have to wait for the next book before I find out what happened. But that's not what's bothering me.
Because once I put the book down and ventured downstairs I was nothing more than zombie. My mum was talking to me, and I gave her nothing more than shrugs and half sounds as a response. I saw her concern and it didn't bother me. I just couldn't sum up the energy to care about anything.
I made myself eat something, because I was dizzy as hell going down the stairs. Because when I wake up feeling this...empty. I just don't leave my bed. Reading seemed simply since the book was right there on my bed. But I didn't bother eating or doing anything. And I don't know if this'll be gone tomorrow and I'll bounce back like I sometimes do, or if this will simply drag on and on.
That I'll be stuck at work trying not to let people talk to me to long or see the little expression on my face. Because I don't want any alarm bells ringing there. Even though a tiny part of me does. Because a tiny part of me is sick and tired of being the strong one who just deals. Part of me wishes I just cry and cry and not care what people think. And its only know when I’m writing and facing my feelings that I start to cry. When all day I've felt nothing, absolutely nothing.
And I want to write, I really miss it, but nothing comes and I worry if this is permanent but I knows that dumb. The whether just remained bad for longer than expected. It'll turn around and I'll feel better. But for what? To go through the same whole fucking ordeal next winter?
It's funny how ridiculous the word Why can be become. Because it's all I can ever ask when I'm alone. Why do I keep having to deal with the same shit over and over again. Hasn't the world put me through enough crap already? Haven't I done my best time and time again to beat things, to prove my will and worth. I've tried my best to be a good person but it seems like whatever “conscious” the world may have couldn't give a fuck about any of that.
More than ever I want to sleep, ignore this world and live in my fantasy ones. But that hurts because then I remember I can't write those worlds. Yet this stream of conscious crap is moving to the keyboard so fast I’m making multiple typos. I just want it to stop already. I want the depression, the paranoia, the issues and the stupid, dumb, pathetic, useless pride to stop.
The funny thing is, I don't feel the slightest urge to self-harm. SO maybe it never helped in the first place. And Maybe I've been completely fooling myself, claiming I was strong when I was just ignoring. Going on about a future that doesn't seem to fit anything about me or my life or this endless mind disease.
Why do I keep acting tough, keep saying I'm fine and cheer up others? And why is it, no one pauses and asks, really asks how I'm doing, until I'm in a state where I can't answer. Because I don't know. Because my body and mind are numbing itself to endless shitiness of it all.
Why is it I can type this and post it on some online forum, but not use my voice to communicate this all my parents. Why does my mouth clamp up? Why does my throat tighten and my eyes dry.
I always wander the same thing everyday at least once. How surprised would they be if they realised how bad it was? I mean they know I have depression. But do they ever consider how far down the rabbit hole I've gone?