I am not scared of the monsters under my bed or the ones you told me as you went home from summer camp—(bonfire stories near the lake of green-eyed goblins and moon howlers with famgs that oversee the mountains)
I am in fact afraid of the monsters that knock at 2 am in the morning prying my wooden chambers of sanity like its playground
—giants that stay on top of my body as the strongest and closest gravity I could ever know
—two little voices of small people debating in a prosecution against myself. One brings me dishonor, another brings me out of dark, empty cells
—a vampire of the day that ***** out life as the sun rises to its crown. Once done, I am yet to fall in a haze of delirium and ecstasy of the sunlessness that precipitates in my heart
I am afraid because I know them too well. But the thing is, **they know me better
These measles are slaying me and not in a good way. Too tired to move around.
So this is how depression feels like and much more. They really seem like monsters and it's scarier because they come from you. Also, I'm getting annoyed with people who invalidate my condition with 'Hey it's all in your head' or 'You can just think of happy thoughts' because ******* cant. Do you think I like what is happening to me?Of course not so shut up unless you actually have something decent to say.