To those that broke my heart
&
To those helping me fix it.
[note: guys. These excerpts are not perfect. I get all insecure when it comes to writing poetry or expressing myself because I'm not very good at it. These are genuinely what I feel and ho...
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My pillow is wet, a reminder of what had occurred the night before. The way I used it to muffle my sobs and screams for help. The way I hugged it too tight while my chest ached in pain. The way it soaked as I cried into it, constantly.
For some time in my life, depression became my enemy, but also my best friend. I can remember being so obsessed with sleeping. Sleeping. It was the only escape to my sad reality.
I shut the world out. I shut my feelings out. I can remember waking up, already dreading the entire day. It was hard for me to go on about my day, knowing the demons of depression has me chained to its heavy blocks.
A simple, "I'm just tired." is a good enough response for people to leave me alone. No one tried. No one ever cared enough to try.
I dealt with those demons on my own, like what I did with every trial that came my way.
I said "hello" to an old friend. She smiled and said the same. I needed her, but I didn't want her going, "She's sad again."
I didn't want to keep feeling that way, sad. I couldn't help it. People hurt me. I hurt myself.
I didn't want to feel anymore, so I cried in my wet pillow, a reminder of the night before, and the night before that.
