I am 17 years old, I should not want to to die this much, in fact death should be the furthest from my mind. I should be laughing, smiling, falling in love, making memories worth remembering. But instead I'm lying here in the dark at 2am trying to breathe, crying my eyes out, aching for anything to ease the way I'm feeling, the thought of ending it all booming in my head like an atomic bomb has gone off. I should be sleeping soundless, peaceful; instead I am clinging this pen so hard I fear it may snap in half, desperately trying to release this unbearable pain I carry, the pressure in my chest building up with each passing second. I carry this burden, depression, like a satchel; the weight of such a thing breaking my muscles down, weakening me, preventing me from rising as I should. The constant voice whispering in my ear, the presence over my shoulder at all times, contradicting everything I do or say, a cloud of negativity hovering around me; approval is an unknown term to this demon, for whatever I try will never fail to be wrong. I fight against this demon as much as I can fathom, before falling to my knees, lowering my head and allowing the sadness to wash over like a tidal wave. Today the demon won, it feeds off my suffering; lurking, watching in the corner as I gasp for air, tears streaming down my face. It smiles as I frown, and the longer I allow it to control me, the darker it grows, strengthening its self; picking out my weaknesses, for this is not the last time it will savor in my pain. Every day with a mental illness is a battle unknown, so many are trapped in their own minds, struggling to get out, screaming for help; but no one acknowledges the affects of such illnesses, because if you can't see it it's not there right? Depression, anxiety, dysphoria, anorexia, adhd, autism, schizophrenia; all examples of things that we, as humans, fundamentally try to ignore. We brush off the ones who need help the most, we pretend these things do not exist; and then, we grieve the losses of the people who suffered from such things, as if we tried everything in our power to save them, as if our best wasn't enough, as if despite our attempts the victim just didn't care. We write ourselves off as the ones who should be hurting, as if we even gave this silent warrior a second glance, as if we tried at all; and for that, we should all truly be ashamed of what we, as a whole, have become. Selfish. Inconsiderate. Throwing each other into the flames, then having the audacity to mourn. No matter how many films we make, how many plays we fund, how many television shows we release; we will never beat the performance of our existence, the true showstopper--Society.
