It seems although every rotten thing has something beautiful ****** inside waiting to be discovered. I am terrified that if one day I fight my way through the darkness I won't have that, in fact I'll have nothing at all.
You see I am not an autumn day or a flower in the desert; there is nothing special about me. Nothing immaculate has ever flowed through my veins.
Maybe if I sink back into that pain so I will never have to face that day.
I am what depression has molded me to be and without it I am nothing but my bones and blood.