Depressiin Stories

Glamourous. That is what they hoped I would be, the perfect patient, with the quiet murmuring in her head, not the loud screeches, not the fear of my own body, of my own hands. They wanted me to be quiet, so I became quiet, so quiet I was more quiet than I was myself. Whispers are what they tell you, shouts are what you hear. This is not a story that will romanticise my pain, it is not pretty, it does not grow despite the storm, it is not a rose to be plucked, not beautiful, not fixable. It is a deep pit, a well I had been trying to climb for years, it is not your poetry it is mine. It is mine.

My mum passed in February this year. Was and still is the hardest time of my life.

This is a story full of the dark/deep things you probably have thought about. WARNING:THE 3 FIRST CHAPTERS OF THIS BOOK ARE BADLY WRITTEN AND TALK ABOUT BLOOD AND CUTTING AND STUFF SO YEA!