#9 1-800-depression

Life is like a desk that was dramatically pushed to the ground and cannot get up. Because we all remember that night we found out the one thing believed to have ruined us. Maybe we came across it, or maybe it was a friend who informed us…it didn’t matter. We’d sense a weird electric vibe deteriorating out surroundings. The walls would shatter and everything would break. We would break.

Maybe it was the job, or the boy. Maybe it was the college, the family member, or that girl you saw at the bus station the other day. Maybe it was someone you knew you loved, or someone you didn’t. Maybe it was you. After that, it was nothing.

I feel like the photograph I’ve managed to capture the other day during classes accurately describes the message of this entry, before I’ve even tried reaching it. Well, they say a picture is worth 1000 words, but I don’t think I’m going to write that much. This desk is such a great metaphor. It was simply standing there, in the corner, while no one cared enough to lift it back up. Not even I. I just shot the moment and left.

If that doesn’t say something, I don’t know what does.

Since it obviously couldn’t lift itself up, I supposed it stayed in that manner for a while. But you? You can do it. You don’t need someone to wrap their arms around your waist and pick you up. While it’s true, that would be an excellent aid, but not a mandatory one. All that can be done by others is listening. You can vent as much as you desire, yet absolutely nothing they say will feel relevant. And it will be nothing more than an excuse for you to move on and pretend you were never hurt, yet not to change anything. You will destroy yourself.

You just have to accept it. Don’t give anyone or anything the benefit of doubt.

Oh, what was that? It sounds insensitive? It isn’t. As a matter of fact, I’m crying as I am composing this so-called symphony of pain. How is that emotionless? My crying is the only moment of rough, uncut truth. Does it hurt me to create such arrangement of words? Unrelated.

So please, please, listen to me. Nothing and no one is worth your tears. I mean it. I know you’ve been crying, watching the environment transcend into psychedelia. You’re confused as your heart tightens and you acquire some sort of unexplainable emptiness. It takes you some time to see you’re alone. Yes, your parents are downstairs, or your roommate is across the hall, or your lover is right next to you. But you’re alone. Whatever knot exists in your soul, only you’re walking on its rope.

Sadness is difficult to put into words. Love, too. I usually write approximatively 800 words in 20 minutes. I’m at word 488 and it has been four hours. It’s not writer’s block, it’s actually something closer to not knowing what you feel. The best you can achieve are metaphors. Lots, lots of metaphors.

However, it’s said that time cures it all. But what if the time doesn’t? What if you find yourself with your skin against the cold walls of a room bargaining for attention, waiting for a mere second of forgetfulness? What if it just never ends? What happens then?

No conclusion for today, I guess. I apologise, but my brain isn’t quite functioning properly due to some… emotional distress. I can’t even name it anymore. It’s just a mess. I hope everyone is doing better.

Remember that only you can save yourself.

Good luck.

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