Well Played, Sir
No one person is ever happy all of the time; however, some people feel as if they will never find happiness. Some of us feel as if our entire life is devoted to pain and hurt and loneliness. Every day is truly a struggle, and every breath is a fight for survival. We are the people who have a deep understanding of the word Depression.
Life feels more like a prison than anything else. I feel there is no one to really listen. I climb the wall of insanity and ride the waves of despair. Does it matter if I fall? Does anyone ever really give a damn? I've stopped aiming for things in life because I always fall short of my target. I live in a world where being strong is a good thing, and being weak is bad. I learned early on to hide the pain and move on. I set myself on auto-pilot and try like hell to stick to a routine. I can't let on that it's all a façade. It builds and builds until I feel myself crash. I feel the inner time bomb quickly approaching the final hours before I explode.
There's an emptiness that comes from deep within. There's a longing to convey what's going on inside to someone, anyone who will listen and even remotely attempt to understand. I feel myself reaching out for open arms that are never there, standing in a crowded room but feeling like I'm the only one there, picking up the phone to realize there's no one to call, knowing that there's no one out there who is thinking of me. My best is never good enough. I'm never smart enough, or pretty enough, or funny enough, or talented enough, or worth enough, or just simply enough. Does anyone care that I'm actually looking forward to the end?
What happened to the days when people cared about one another? When did we become such a selfish society that everyone is too busy scrambling to make themselves look good or to get to the top? They've forgotten to stop, take a breath, look around and enjoy the people that surround them, encourage them and lift them up. Is it so much to ask that you show a little fucking gratitude? Would it be too hard for you to give thanks and offer yourself for a minute or two just in case that person needs the same encouraging lift?
All the once vibrant colors of my life have run together to make a perfect mess; a giant black blob which encompasses that place where my heart stands; a heart that no longer has shape. It has been beaten and bruised and chipped away so that it's a mere shell of what was once there before. I'm just too tired to care anymore. I'm too tired to fight it off. So I welcome it in and give it a warm place to stay. It's the only constant and familiar in my life. Cheers to you, depression. You've won again. I bow my head and admit defeat. Well played, sir. Well played.