My Hell

Saturday, July 1st

Dear Depression,

Fuck you. I wish I could kill you. You control so many people's lives. You drive them to kill themselves and cut. You take over and control. You hunt down the weak and make them weaker. You take the strong and drag them into the sea until they're drowning. What the fuck is wrong with you? You take so many lives. You drive people insane and make them sick. You make some people cry and others want to murder. You are a fucking piece of shit. You bring people into mental hospitals and make them scream. You make it hard on everyone when you invite death into the body of the depressed. Who do you think you are? You don't have the right to do any of it. You make it so hard for me to live. 

You decide to get me by getting to so many people while holding hands with death. You and death are like a fucking couple. I try to save so many, I really do. But its how many that you make ill, that makes me weak. That's right, you've made me vulnerable. Happy now? I'd rather you kill me and break me and shake me, make me kill myself and torture me in hell after then have you destroy anyone else. 

I'd like to strangle you, make you pay for what you do to the people of this world, no matter the race or color or sexuality. You make people ashamed to be themselves, or make them see black and white negative. No one deserves what you do. Not even Larry. If you were a person, I would of hoped someone had taken you down. You are like a cancer. 

So I just wanted to say: Fuck you.

-Calli