It's crippling and all consuming.
My depression isn't here because I'm sad, or because my life isn't going great, it's here because love isn't.
I look around at all these couples and I feel empty.
No one can love me that way. I don't blame them. I'm shattered inside. I'm a mess. And nothing too terrible has even happened to me, yet I have these never healing scars from loneliness.
And if I could leave it alone, they'd heal, but I can't.
I'll lay awake at night and stare at nothing as I pick pick pick away at the scars in my heart, because feeling pain is better than the all consuming emptiness.
At least if I'm bleeding, it means I'm alive.
The cold emptiness is, surprisingly, not like death. Death is nothing. No, this is worse. So much worse. It's like being in a glass coffin. It's suffocating, and you can feel yourself dying.
But you aren't dead. You never die.
No matter how much you wish you could. This emptiness makes me wish I could die, but I don't want to kill myself. I think about the things I'll miss, like toast.
I mean, how sad is that?
How sad is it that the number one on my list of reasons to stay is fucking toast? And I don't even like toast! I just like how much it represents. Humans have come so far, maybe I can too.
I can't imagine living like this forever.
Because that's not life. This isn't living. This is a coma. I can talk to everyone, but no one ever seems to hear me. I'm just below the surface, scratching to get out, but I never will. I can't.
I can't escape the black hole inside my chest.
It's eating away at everything. No one could ever love me, not because I won't let them, but because no one wants to. I used to think broken was beautiful, tragically beautiful...
There's no such thing as lovely carnage. And that's all I am.