#DepressionBuddies | Yoonmin

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Yoongi POV ⤵

I couldn't breathe. It was like the world was constricting around me- crushing me. The voices screamed at me, tortured me. I cried out for help but of course, nobody would help me. nobody really cared.

I was just that one boy who hears voices- the one who's fifty pounds underweight. The one who cries himself to sleep almost every night.

The one who's been here almost half his life.

I kicked my legs aimlessly. I wasn't hitting anything. I was just purposely wasting my energy away. Anything to tire myself out- to express the fear, anger, and pain built up within me. I don't really know how else to expel it.

I choked on every breath I tried to take in. I'd developed the cold that was spreading from child to child. I thought that, by isolating myself, I wouldn't get sick. but, I was wrong. So terribly wrong. my nose was stuffy; throat burned; stomach churned. And, on top of that all, the voices were back. We hadn't spoken in a while.

I gasped for air, gripping my pillow close to my chest. Holding something close to me comforts me, in a way. Who wouldn't it, though? It's like hugging someone. Hm, hugging. I haven't had a hug in years. That's just sad, really. Sadder than any other aspect of my life. They say that three hugs a day are enough to boost your mood big time. Maybe if I got just one... even once a month. I feel like that could do a lot.

Aside from that, I want to die. But that's new? Being sick just- just makes you feel that way all the more. The consistent suffering; no relief whatsoever. I have no medicine. Not even a coughdrop. I just have to wait it out. Thankfully enough, I was able to sneak a box of tissues from the main room without anyone seeing. But even that box is almost gone.

Security stopped locking my bedroom door at night a few months ago. I haven't tried to run away in a while so they must have figured I just gave up. Even if I did try again, they know all my moves. I would be caught almost immediately.

Sometimes I like to think of myself as a prisoner on death row. Only, I've been trapped here far longer than an inmate on death row. There's no escape for me. Sure, I'll be "set free" in a few months but what really is "free" when you're someone like me?

I won't get into that again. Nobody wants to hear it. All I ever talk about is how suckish my life is- how I feel. People out there could have it worse than i do. I like to watch the news in the staff's room when I get the chance. I've never seen much outside. I don't have a phone, access to a computer, or even books. All that was taken from me when I was pulled from school. I now see children skinnier than myself- just skin and bones- who live in African countries. at least I have a decent meal sometimes. They don't even have clean water.

That's one of the things that keeps me from killing myself. For the last two entries, I've sounded so dreary and hopeless- as if I just hate every aspect of life. I really... don't. If that's the right word to use. I feel guilty when thinking of killing myself. I see these children looking so happy yet they don't have water, or homes, or even beds and clean clothes. Compared to them, I am fortunate to be trapped in this hellhole.

The small children here- did I mention them before? They're amusing. They like to bring a bit of a smile to my face. They're cute and all but they get adopted the fastest. I always force myself not to grow attached to the ones that stay here longer. The moment I become attached is when they're just taken away- shipped off to a better life- a happier life.

I wiped my tears with my sleeve, taking in a long, deep breath. My body shook like mad.

"Yoongi?" I jumped at the sudden mention of my name. I looked over to see a small girl standing in my doorway. She looked scared. I had seen her around but never talked to her. Shy, I could tell that. I wasn't in the mood to talk but something in the expression on her face told me that I should give it a try. I don't speak to many intelligent beings these days- it's usually babies and babbling todlers.

I sat up, dying my eyes, "Sorry," I said.

"Is everything okay?" She wondered.

"Yeah, I'm okay. What's up?" I told her and continued to dry my face. The tears seemed to halt on cue. I thanked my own self-control for that.

"I heard you crying and um, I wondered if you needed to talk."

If I'm correct, she's about twelve. I heard her talking to one of the other girls the other day, "You're sweet. I'd love to talk but I don't think you want to hear why I'm crying" I forced a laugh.

"Do you miss someone? Most of the time people cry because they miss somebody." She stated. her voice was high pitched. She really was very cute.

"You can come in, just shut the door behind you. But no, I don't miss anyone. Do you?" I regretted asking the question but I can't take it back now.

"I miss my brother." She pouted.

"What happened?" I crossed my legs and she sat in front of me. She looked much younger than twelve now that I see her clearly.

"My parents got divorced," she sighed, "my mom got me and my dad got my brother. But my mom didn't want me so she gave me here. I feel like my brother was the only one who loved me." Her bottom lip quivered, "He was so nice to me. Always took me out for ice cream when mommy and daddy fought. He was the bestest."

"He sounds wonderful." I replied, forcing a small smile to my lips. Poor girl, "How old are you?"

"Ten. Almost eleven."

"Ahh. What was your brother's name, if you mind me asking?"

"Jimin, or Jiminie. I liked to call him Jiminie." She giggled.

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