I'm so tired that when I bent over the motivation just shot right out of my ***! Now that's tired

The pain is unrelenting,
and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come-
not in a day,
an hour,
a month,
or a minute.
If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary;
more pain will follow.
It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul.
So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs,
shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying-
or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity-
but moving from pain to pain.
One does not abandon, even briefly, one’s bed of nails,
but is attached to it wherever one goes.

Depression is a disorder of mood,
so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it becomes known to the self--
as to verge close to being beyond description.
It remains nearly incomprehensible to those who have not experienced it in its extreme mode,
although the gloom, "the blues" which people go through
occasionally and associate with the general hassle of everyday existence are of such prevalence that they do give many individuals a hint of the illness in its catastrophic form.

The air in my home
is heavy with my mom's unhappiness. And her exhaustion.
And her sheer dissatisfaction with her life.
And I hate it.
I can be locked up in my room when she's in the kitchen and I feel her despair seeping up through the doors and walls.

As she said to me,
"Have you ever felt suffocated by your own life?
Like life has trapped you in a corner and ******* whatever is left of you?"

No amount of strength that I contain can somehow give her a miniature motive to get back up.

God, this is awful.

i could've sworn
that the blood on my hands
was from killing my demons,
but when i woke up,
the scars were on my own throat
"I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim."

My bitterness stems from the urge to hold onto things I can't control
I'm very controlling
A weakness
But you can imagine the struggle
You know how they say if you get chills someone walked on your grave?
You weren't only so disrespectful as to walk on my grave
You spit on it
And my skin still crawled with pleasure for you
It's like a sickness
It would be a honor to wake with Amnesia
I'd forget the way I let you push me around
My vocabulary lacks the words to remotely make your disgustingness look ravishing
And why would I?

****.

I'm so empty.