Melancholia

Intro

Until your song comes on,
and you've lost control.

Until you've had a drink,
and you've sobered up.

Until you die,
and you are reborn
to decide that there is no better time
to be dead than right now.

Writing comforts me. My writing may be weird or dark, but it makes me forget.

"Forget what?" I hear you ask.

Forget my addiction.

You see, I'm not a normal person, but is anyone truly normal? If you consider yourself normal I suggest you close your eyes and walk away right now if you'd like to stay that way.

If you choose to stay and continue reading, be my guest, but don't come crying back to me when your mother sends you to a psychiatrist.

As I was saying, I have an addiction. No, I'm not a druggie or an alchoholic mess. I'm not addicted to cigarettes either, though I wish it were that simple. I'm addicted to something much worse.

Don't think of me any different when I tell you this, please. I wouldn't be able to deal with losing another friend.

We are friends, right?

I'll tell you anyways.

The thing I crave the most sends most people crying to their mothers in hopes of finding relief. It even forces the toughest of men to their knees, yet I welcome it with open arms.

It is what humans fear the most, but most importantly, it's what is keeping me alive.

You won't understand right away, no. But, I am hoping you'll stay long enough to let me explain it to you.

That thing, that terrifying thing is none other than pain itself.

That's right.

Pain.