Giving people shit to relate to is sucking. Imagine others using your life to console them. My life became a cross pillar of hope. Not necessarily because it was a better one. Because they felt no matter how worse life got, it would never surpass mine. This was the shit we were living in. My aunt couldn't take it anymore. She said I needed help. If anything was worse than depression or anxiety, it'd be my new name. But I didn't need help. I could drink the whole bottle by myself. When I woke up the next morning there was a note on the refrigerator. It was from my aunt. It said this isn't working anymore. You have to leave. I was still containing my hungover but I was pretty sure the fridge was working when I opened it. What wasn't working then? I thought about my aunt.
After a breathtaking morning, the beautiful gleam of the streets welcomed me into its abyss. The streets were like a world of its own. Drug dealers, drug addicts, sex addicts, and even gangsters were all neighbors. It's here that one stick of rates could be passed down to its last successor. People didn't care about cardiac arrest anymore. For once I knew my depression was just a lice on the streets.
I cry for help do they listen. It's not my will to live like this. But all these support groups keep kicking me out. But I didn't blame them. You can't save a person who doesn't want to be saved. I was thinking about how I'm going to die young what the fuck is this about. We've heard so many legends pass away at a young age. Well, maybe that's not my fate because I'm no legend. "yet". My ultimate goal in life is to get Rich so badly that I get to plan my burial. But it seems not even the devil wants my soul. Have been on the market for quite some time but no one's buying it. I want to talk to those who sell their souls. Maybe one can lead me to my dealer. If I'm going to sell my soul, then I'm going to do it again. Doesn't sound like the first one though. I already gave in to depression and addiction which came with no price. It was just a natural gift. If anyone meets the devil himself, tell them I've been looking for him
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Depressed
Non-FictionBackground check of a nineteen-year-old . temptations,fake friends fake dreams I hate them erase them delete them