excerpts

6.2

My worst days are when I'm incapable of doing anything at all.

It's not out of laziness or procrastination- it's out of the mental feeling of desperation and hopelessness to a point where I can't physically bring myself to do something as simple as put on socks so my feet don't get cold.

Depression consumes me.

[Yes, I've admitted it. Though it's probably not that hard to figure out anyways. If you're a reader of my other books, now you know why I only write depressive narratives. Even the ones that start out humorous end up twisted into some sort of agony. Please understand that my stories are not to romanticize mental illness but to raise awareness of how it's so common and overlooked and affects people lethally.]

My entire being is encapsulated by this abstract concept and I feel sick that I let it have this kind of control over me.

Tears run in my veins.

Mental disorders are embedded in my genetic code.

Anxiety is a wave of overwhelming emotions; ice cold and a white hot fury all at once.

I bleed insanity.

My bones are made of my broken dreams and shattered hopes.

I breathe in self deprecation and exude happiness.

I'm depressed.

These two words need no metaphors.