Depression.
One word that row off the tongue so easily can destroy one's soul.
people who haven't gone through it don't know it's affects.
People who have cut and burned and scratched and harmed themselves are yelled at.
Yet the peoe who tell them Not to, a good chunk of them haven't gone through and don't know that it's not something you can control.
Once you're in your deepest state of depression,  it's easy to go insane and hard not to harm yourself.
When you think that you've finally recovered from depression you're wrong.
At least for some people.
For me.
You get to the point where you think you know what happiness in and the  you realize. Nobody is smiling at you. They're all smiling at your "friend" who always walks away with people they know whithout asking if you wanna go.
No one ever asks if YOU wanna go hang out. Nope. They only ask if they don't wan a go alone or need something from you.
And after a x"happy"x day you go home. Sleep it off. Wake up. And then it hits you again.
Depression
So you're crying and you don't even know why.
But once you stop crying, you have a moment to realize why you we're crying.
Because one person in this world cant do anything but be there.
In the nidist of the crowd, they're just there.
Like a little piece of dust. They have no reason to be there.
They just ARE.
And yet people say that life is a blessing and to live it while you can.
...But...
We are born to live and we all live to die. So what's the point of living life if it just contradicts.
I talk a lot of happiness and inspirational **** but that doesn't mean that's who I am inside.
Inside this dark body.
There is no soul anymore.
For I am too grown to live carefree.
To live happy.
To live the fullest.
To live at all.
Depression
Depression always come back to attack.
53 and counting.
Scars that show my feeling locked behind the bars.
53 of my visible war scars.
People have encouraged me.
People have yelled.
Cried.
And yet the small silver piece of metal still lays in my drawer.
The small silver sliver of hope.
People don't understand what it's like to be me.
For I am not like others.
I asked.
'How do you feel afterwards?'
They all said;
Depressed
Sad
Guilty
angry
Regretful.
And then they asked me.
'How do you?'
And of course. My answer.
'Proud
Happy
In control
Confused '
I laugh the whole time.
I cry because it doesn't hurt and I know that it should hurt.
I cry because all the emotions flow out into the small silver metallic blade.
And it flies angrily over my wrist and arm.
Vertically
Horizontally
Diagonally.
Squares
Letters
Words
Numbers
Insults
And yet I'm still in the stage of depression.
Depression
Depression
Depression