This is not depression

You ask me to write about depression. How extremely ironic because I've been feeling good lately. If a few weeks counts as lately.

The truth is every month or so something comes up. It screams at my heart and it pulls me into its black hole of insanity. A messed up humanity that doesn't let go.

It's not fun not to know why you care about what someone said. And so comes to show, I don't know who I am anymore.

This is not depression. But it sure is depressing. It's hard to explain but it's like there's a tiny sling shot dipped in possion, because it only takes a drop. And it takes over my brain like a virus and fills it with all the pig slop it can find hidden up in the nasty crevices of the world.

And believe me there's a lot. This is not depression. But I still can't explain why I'm afraid of my own damn dreams. Or why I constantly wake up with tears down my face, sliding like streams into my chest from nightmares.

Because. I mean... come on honesty who cares? All my life... All my f*****g life. Monsters stare at me in my sleep, I started to fend them off so now they come in pares. The images haunt my eyes awake and in bed as I weep.

I never dreamt of flowers and pearls, but it was never me being tortured. I have no time to cry for me I cry for the world.

This is not depression. Not for my self at least. I'd like to say I'm an optimist, but even the most positive girl can't help but notice the raging beast in the cubs eye. Can't stay innocent forever. Why lie? This is not depression, maybe everyone has it.