Poisoned mind

Chapter 8

Does anyone else find it crazy that you can be so depressed, literally drowning yet nobody can see that. They just think that if you can smile you must be okay. You can be crying and screaming and they just say your having a "episode". The worst part is when you tell someone and they say your 'attention seeking". Like no. If I wanted fucking attention is be showing you my art and don't say it's not art because it is. It's the art of addiction. The kind that society has caused. We just use broken canvasses instead of new fresh ones. We go over paintings we did in the past to make our new masterpiece.
The bravest thing I did was live when I wanted to die. When I wanted to wrap the rope around my neck I stepped away. I let go.
Of course they say if it love you it will come back.
I don't think it loves me. This demon wants me dead.
I might as well be.
People say God has a bigger purpose but me and God we don't get along.
My lollipops turn into cigarettes. The cartons of milk we all used to line up for in primary school, they are the shots of vodka that the wasted souls line up for at a "house party".
Remember when the most pain you had ever felt was when you slipped and scraped you knee, when the nurse would carry you inside and you'd get a sweet for being brave. Well now you can be covered in cuts, bruises of all sizes and nobody give one flying fuck.

I didn't die from the fall, in fact, whilst I was reflecting on the damage I had done to everyone else, a woman had seen me standing there and called the emergency services. The fire department had arranged for some sort of massive pillow thing to be put directly under  where I was standing. The blow had given me concussion and out me in a coma for a month. But that's okay because sleep helps me get away.
If love is a game the game has broken.  My game lost its main player.
Luke.