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 depressed |
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He whispered, "I love you."
The words were meaningless, pointless even. There was no real need for him to say it. You knew this already but pushed on ahead, brought yourself to new heights and gave up all hope. You found someone else, someone who could return your love in a decent time frame with no inhibitions and no hesitation. Someone who loved you for who you were, not just what you were. Someone who would give you the world if you just snapped your fingers and who would beg at your feet if you ever left. Someone you were happy with. Someone responsible and kind and devoted to you and you alone.
And yet, those words still hurt, didn't they?
And you still deny it.
You deny the feelings those words evoke. You deny the urge to run into his arms. You deny the love that was never really lost, just tucked away for safe keeping. You deny the hopes that you had, the dreams that the two of you planned. You deny everything to be with the one who deserves you. Not the one you long for. Not the one you really want. Not the one who spoke up too late, when it was over and you managed to get rid of all of the pain that he caused.
In the process, you denied yourself happiness.
So who's worse I wonder?
I got bored and decided to write. Everyone is too busy for RP and whatnot, so here I sit, all alone in my depression. I put on a front for my parents and friends and boyfriend and smile even though I don't really want to. I want to cry and scream and beg someone to make me face the truth, the one that hurts more and more every day. I want someone to slap some sense into me. I want someone to make me sit there and listen to every fault that I have, every lie I've ever told, every truth I've never faced.
But, I can't bring myself to do it.
It hurts too much now. What happens if they start talking and drive me over the edge? I know that I probably need to see a shrink, but, that's not my priority. They'll just put me on drugs anyway and then go on about their merry business and pretend that I'll be fine as long as I'm hopped up on valium or xanex or any of those other nifty little medications that make you forget who and what you really are. And I'm nothing special. Maybe it would be nice to forget that. Maybe it would be pleasant to walk around in a daze and pretend that I have no real problems, only those I create for myself. But that's not really true is it?
I don't know what has brought on this recent plague of over dramatic depression. I quit my job, but that is definately a good thing. Those bitches didn't deserve to be allowed to sit in the same room with me. Other than that? I don't know. I'm more angry than depressed, but, anger is a form of depression isn't it? Because even while I want to scream my head off, I still want to cry. I hate everything. Nothing is beautiful, everything is tainted and I'm making it a point to be rude. No, it's not right, but it's how I feel. At least I still know I'm alive. I still feel.
If I curled up and died tomorrow, would anyone seriously care? Their mouths would of course. Words of, "She was so young," and "She was so smart," would be spoken, but nothing that would ever really mean anything. No one would grieve. No one would dwell on it long. It would be over and most would be glad for it. Maybe even I would be glad for it. Or at least better off. Then again, who knows? I'd probably go to Hell. Well, let me correct that. I would go to Hell.
I hate mirrors. They're just a reflection of me and that reflection only depresses me more. It shows a girl who's lost and confused and angry and hurt and I'd like to rip it off the wall and fling it to the floor and maybe slice open the soles of my feet with it. But I can't do that, can I? I have to pretend to be normal. Is there a definition for normal? I know there's supposed to be one. The dictionary has one. But no one is normal, least of all me. But I can pretend right? Yes, of course. I've done it for almost 21 years now. I can keep right on pretending on the outside and hurting on the inside as long as no one knows the truth. As long as no one knows I hate myself.
Kim
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