Depressing Poems

132

Journal entry:

I'm home alone rn and I'm blasting music in my room. I feel so satisfied with life. Content, even. I miss this feeling. The nostalgia that comes with it is almost... saddening. I feel a bit low after hearing this song, and I'm not entirely sure why. It feels like sitting outside in the rain for hours and hours on end, just to stand up and leave when it gets bright. Or like sitting on the roof, staring at the stars that seem to move after a few hours. Or like lying on your bed with lonely music in your earbuds, while watching time pass by as you lie there for what seems to feel like hours when in reality it's much less. It's like waking up to a tear-stained face and wondering why you cried in your sleep. It's like bawling your eyes out when you're home alone, along to depressing rap music that you blast into your ears with headphones. It's like cutting with simplicity, just because. It's like how I'm feeling right now. Chill, but sad.

I like this feeling. It's in all honesty, comforting. And I know that's bad, because feeling sad all the time is comforting but unhealthy for my mental state. It's like choosing between sadness or happiness, but you're glorifying the idea of sadness. You see sadness as a way of life, and happiness as a temporary substance that gives you short bursts of joy. It's like the roles are reversed: sadness is how you've always known things. It's comforting, and it's the way you live life: knowing that you feel this certain way and are content with it. This happens while happiness is on the side, giving the same feeling as cutting. Cutting gives you short bursts of release and euphoria, as well as relief. Same with happiness; like all feelings, happiness is only temporary. That is what it feels like when you are depressed. You're either wallowing in your sadness or are chill in your sadness. You are "addicted" to happiness, the feeling of cutting, but you feel as if it's unhealthy for you. You get pulled back into the depths of depression, and act upon impulse and anxiety. Maybe it's just better for me, you think. Maybe I'm better off feeling this way, you think. It's better than the feeling of loss anyway, you think. And all because of that, you feel as if you're better off in your comfort zone: your sadness. And maybe it's true. Because I'm still just some shitty mess that doesn't believe that I can do it.

It fucking sucks.