Infatuated Bliss

Coming to Terms

Fuck! Fuck! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.  Y'know, people always say that if you're depressed, you should tell people.  Talk it out.  Tell them how you feel.  Well, that's just a bunch of bullshit is what it is.  I did it, I finally told my mum about it.  And you know what, it didn't feel liberating.  It didn't feel free.  I couldn't feel these chains be broken.  Instead, it felt like I was just tied to even more chains with a ten-thousand pound ball replacing a five pound one.  I feel even more scared and more tired than ever.  I didn't want to hear the things I heard.  Just more bullshit is all I heard.  Also, it was the truth.  The truths I never wanted to hear.  The truths I had to finally confront.  The words I had to face despite how hard I tried to ignore them.  Telling others this pain, this regret, only dug me into a pit.  No longer did I feel lost in a forest of my thoughts.  Rather, I now felt buried.  Buried into a deep pit of sorrow and misery.  It's slowly drowning me.  Depriving me of oxygen.  Killing me.  This feeling was not freeing.  It only led to even more suffering.  Why?  Why must people lie like this?  Telling these pitiful lies.  It's stupid.  And hell, I even want to kill myself even more now.  Every chance I get, I feel like wanting to die. Seeing every possibility to die.  Seeing the ways I would cry out in pain and just wish for my life to end.  I don't even have the slightest motivation to keep living like I used to.  It's all lost.