I live in a second story apartment. I often wonder if I jumped off my balcony whether I would die or not. Maybe if I dove head first the fall would snap my neck, and it would be over quickly. I visualize it often. With my luck I would just end up a vegetable. I don’t understand why it’s so hard to feel consistently happy. People tell me what to do. I know what to do. I know that I should get up out of bed I know I should exercise, stimulate my brain, do things I enjoy doing. But it’s harder than people make it out to be. Much harder. jumping is so easy. It’s right there. I’m sure I could do it right.

Strange where your motivation ends up when you’re depressed. No one understands. They say they do. But they only understand their perception of what’s going on. Not mine. No one ever will understand. It’s frustrating when people try to understand. Pretend they know something I don’t. Its wild to feel like the ultimate comfort is in the cold concrete below my balcony. It’s frustrating to feel like I’m being dramatic. It’s disempowering. I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate myself for wanting to jump. I hate myself more for not having the ***** to jump.

And so the cycle goes around and around. Taking a piece of me every time it repeats. It plays for keeps. Maybe one day it will take my fear with it.

Things help, but not really.

Anything that helps eventually does nothing. Novelties wear off. And the clouds come rushing back, thicker than ever. It destroys me, it destroys my relationships. It destroys every childlike part of me leaving me cold, angry, and “alone”. Drugs help, then they don’t. Exercise helps, until I can’t exercise. Talking helps until I get tired of hearing the same **** story over and over come out fo my mouth. Its so easy for other people to highlight all the good things in my life. But are they even good if I can’t recognize them as such? Again, your perception is your own and its literally all you’ve got. Sometimes it lies. Sometimes it’s brutally honest. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

The depression has grown from my mind to my body, rendering me more powerless than ever before. If only I could just jump. It’s crazy to wish for worse people in your life. People that wouldn’t miss me if I jumped. People that would say things like, “yea we saw that coming” or “maybe finally he will be at peace”. Its the people in my life that keep me here. I think some part of me hates them for that. For infringing on my life. Its my prerogative after all.

lucky for them I’m a coward.