Face first crash,
****** mouth full of gravel,
some say that's how depression hits you.
others say its like a freight train
that collides into them head on,
and smashes them against the tracks,
leaving bits and pieces of them where they don't belong.
face first crash into depression,
so unexpected,
always hurts the most.

You won't believe how many times I have typed "i'm fine" with shaky fingertips and bloodshot eyes.
Too many to count.
I know that situation too well.

The best way to **** yourself?
The answer is simple:
Don't.
Being alive is not the same as living.
I might as well be dead by the way I feel.
Isolate yourself.
Don't speak when you want to the most.
Fake a smile.
most importantly stay alive, but don't live.
That's the best way  to do it.
To stay alive but feel so numb and sad that it slowly kills you all together.

When society asks how you are... what the hell do you tell them?

That you're exhausted,
worn down and numb.
That you know what death feels like.
It is still, calm, and empty.
It is beyond sadness, a cold, nothingness feeling.
That you've lost yourself.
You're looking at your reflection touching the glass,
trying to work out if that really is you staring back.
That if people can be broken, you have shattered every bone.
Dropped every ***** so it cracked just like glass
That you can force your mouth into a smile,
but your eyes are blind, dull, and empty.
The sadness is all you have right now.
Perhaps it will vanish tomorrow, but perhaps it won't.
You've been here before and will be here again.
This cycle is the life you have become used to.
You're sure you will be fine.

You're just a sad and broken person. That's how you are.
But you can't exactly tell society that can you?
So you go about your day with a smile on your face because you have to fake it until you make it.

Tonight is one of those nights.
You know, the ones where you fall apart.
You close the door and numbly lock it.

You stare at your hands for the longest time before finally breaking.
You gasp for breath, silently sobbing about everything all at once.
About everything that is wrong with you and the world.

Then you deal with it the only way you know how.
You take deep, exhausted, shuddered breaths as you quietly cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning you wake up huddled in the corner of your bed, with a sore body and pounding headache.
So you get out of bed just like any other morning.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up wanting people who do not want us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up valuing people who don't give a **** about us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up needing people that do not need us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up trusting people that just break us in the end.

I asked her to tell me what she wished for.
"I want to go home," she whispered.
"Isn't this your home?" I asked confused.
She shook her head,
her hand reached out to hold mine gently.

"Home is comfort even when things don't go your way. Home is a place to hide when you're tired of running. Home is a place to be yourself without feeling judged. It's where you feel safe."

"So are you saying you aren't home?"
"Yes, that's exactly what i'm saying," she said, on the verge of tears.