I have always believed that human beings grew up wanting to be grown and spent the time when we were wanting to try again all the time I have known I felt this was true and coming back to me and you I'll say it again: life is not lived outside of original sin and every step I take feels like a mistake no emo lyricism here just real fear because there's too much dark in this big broad world for anyone to shed any real light and without light the shadows creep and crawl and I can watch the walls but who mans the halls all night long I wait awake every blink and every breath I take another reason for me to fear "major depressive disorder" doctors croon that like a sweet lullabye but that does nothing to dry my eyes because what? I'm not sick, just crazy? I'm not hurt, just lazy? I know the pains I feel so deep if they aren't real then neither am I I fall short of every sunrise with color but I try major depressive disorder according to books (allow me to paraphrase, I can't be bothered to look again) is categorized by an extreme feeling of hopelessness and loss of interest and I feel they are lacking finesse when I am told I am a sad sad soul because the world is grand and wide and I would invite it all to come inside but I can't and that makes me sad. it makes me sad when I see the way people are treated. it makes me sad and often downright defeated and when the little flame that keeps this broken heart burning gets washed out by the darkness of the world awake and yearning waiting for a moment of doubt and weak I feel so ******* meek me, meek. I feel like the world is collapsing but only in my chest I feel like an infant in a bulletproof vest getting shot my skin starts to itch and I can't scratch with my nails deep enough and son of a ***** they don't trust me with sharp things anymore and the scores on my arms are the times I have lost and this battle isn't won and this is hardly a war this is slaughter, this is me standing alone under the whole wide world and keeping it up and this is everyone I love looking at me straining and telling me that I'm slipping up alaska is too far south today, do I even give a ****? depression is not a feeling of overwhelming sadness I am not sad because of misaligned cables in my mind I am sad because no matter how hard I try I'm told that I am not. but here I am still trying, standing up from my cot on the floor and every step outside that yawning door there are people pulling me back and slinging words that cut deeper than I ever did and every hand that grasps my shirttails to try and pull me home like a lost little kid leaves mars all down my back, claws that sink and ravage leaving me ****** and raw and bleeding open and sloppy all on the floor I keep my pace, like every step will be the last straw like every step is the last one I need to take to get away and as I go I follow all the trails of similar blood, refreshed by people like me every day. and I just wanted to say I don't give a flying **** what you think you know about my scars I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable to see my arms, the sun is out and it's 90 ******* degrees don't lie to me and say I should be ashamed and not wear these badges like good luck charms don't tell me my survival is offensive to your eyes because you should know without being told these scars are here to help me grow old when I needed to remember I was alive these scars were fresh cuts, science experiments on a corpse brought back screaming "I'M ALIVE" I'm not ashamed for surviving because if I were ashamed I wouldn't be.