Dear Depression,
Fuck you. This is all your fault. You make me feel like this. You make me not want to wake up. You make me want to fall into an eternal slumber. You make me feel different emotions. You make me feel things that I don't want to feel. Nobody likes when you are there. You make me hate my doctors because they give me pills to make you go away, but they only make you grow stronger. Pills don't help. They don't help one bit. If they made pills to fix emotional pain, this world wouldn't be such crap. Pills shouldn't come with side effects. But they do, they come with plenty of them. They don't make me happier, they make me feel worthless. They don't make me smile or laugh, they make my whole body ache. You know what the worst things is? The worst thing is that when you are gone, it feels like a part of me is missing. You grew so much that when you left for that short while, you made me feel like i was incomplete. That is udder bullshit. I would say that I hate you, but I can't. I don't have space in my life to hate you. You already take up my whole entire being. I don't have the tiniest of spots for hating you.
With much sadness,
Amelia Nightheart
YOU ARE READING
The journal of a Depressed
PoetryThis is just a journal, I don't mind if you take a look .
