Depression isn't just sadness,
it isn't just a disease,
it's like locking away your happiness,
and throwing away the keys.

It's the blackest black,
and it swallows you whole,
it takes away everything good,
and tortures you with what it stole.

Depression isn't just an emotion,
it isn't just a sickness of the brain,
it's everything you've ever loved,
and watching it go down the drain.

It's the absence of hope,
the dwelling place of fear,
it takes your worst nightmares,
and whispers them in your ear.

I want to feel the sensation
of screaming.
of singing.
I want to feel the vibrations
ring through my finger tips
of an electric guitar,
to my hand
up my arm
& harmonize together in my head.
from the thunder beats of the drums.
from the screeches of the crowd
to the friends behind the stage.
the screams through the speakers.
the rumble of my feet
as I stomp the stage
to please my desire to become insane.
to become free.
I am who I am.
I raise the metal sign in the air.
I raise my middle fingers in the air.
I raise my fists in the air.
I smile with sweat racing down my face
down my back.


I want to feel the sensation
of screaming.
of singing.
I will take the stage.
I will amaze the crowd.

I am such a metal head.

Anxiety reverberates through my body. My chest becomes so heavy that it feels as if a cinderblock has been lied down on it. All of my body's involuntary functions pause to listen to the demons that live in the back of my head. The demons announce to my anatomy that I have no worth, no value. The demons mock my lungs, "Why work so hard to keep her breathing when nobody on earth wants her alive." My body receives the criticisms and obeys the demon's demands. My lungs quit. I cannot breath. My mouth quits. I cannot speak, the only sounds escaping are soft screams. My ears quit. I hear nothing, besides the demons. My stomach quits. It tries to commit suicide by consuming itself causing me to curl into a ball in severe agony. My eyes try to fight off the negativity. They push the negativity out through tears, but it isn't enough. They look myself over in the mirror, trying to find some value. My eyes explore my entire body, searching desperately for something beautiful, something worth fighting for. They find nothing, but disappointment. My hands fight too. They find a blade and slide it across my wrist, a demon escapes me through the tear in my skin. My body feels a slight relief, but soon a different demon rekindles my self disgust. I let the blade dance across my body, over and over again, feeling slight relief each time. Eventually my entire body is bleeding and I am still only slighting relieved of my pain. My eyes work with my hands on the search to find a place to help the demons to escape. There is no place on my body left, that I could use to release my demons. My crying has stopped and enough demons have left my system to breath comfortably. I put the blade away, and slip into bed, my entire body aching. The physical pain is much easier to handle than the physical and emotional torture the demons would have caused. I lay in bed, trying to be as still as possible to avoid agitating my wounds. I cry to myself silently, because I know I'm going to have to rip myself open again tomorrow night. I feel numb enough to eventually to fall into a slumber. Will I spend the rest of my life rereleasing the same demons over and over again, just to feel unsatisfied and numb? Are my demons right? Is my life worthless? Especially considering I'm at my best either when I'm unconscious or when I'm numb? I am so tired of being numb. Agonizing numbness.

I'm sorry
But sometimes sorry just won't do
Even if I say it a million times
It won't change a thing
But I want you to know
That if I could
I'd reach into heaven and pull you down a star