What's Going To Kill Me

I wish I could say my depression was something like you see in movies. 

The kind where the beautiful girl sits alone and cries while everyone around her is puzzled because they all know how beautiful and important she is. 

Where all of her pain and tears become laughter and smiles. 

Tragic, but curable.

 My depression is ugly and hopeless.

 It's sitting awake in a dark room at four in the morning with nothing but your thoughts while the walls close in on you.

 It's crying in the shower so no one knows or asks questions.

 It's hearing "just be happy" like you haven't tried. 

It's breathing a sigh of relief when the blade finally slides across unmarked patches of skin and watching beads of blood bloom in a perfect little line. 

It's finding comfort in the darkest of moments because maybe, just maybe, someone else will feel the way you do for a while. 

It's living everyday in a hell you can't escape because your own mind created it. 

My depression isn't the kind of thing that people romanticize. 

It's the kind of thing that if others could experience it would wish I were gone just as much as I do.

It's what's destroyed me.

It's what's going to kill me.

One Man's Struggle, One Girl's Downfall

I've never had many regrets in life. I like to look at the things that happen as building blocks. All interlocking to make me the person I'm meant to be, but there is one night that, looking back, I would change everything. And that was the night that I saved my rapist's life... At the time I didn't know who he would turn out to be. It felt right, like the only choice. But now that I know what his part in my story is, I desperately want to edit him out. You see I could have altered my entire course. Avoided one of the most traumatic events of my life, and maybe even the severe depression I occasionally suffer from. But I chose to help and offer solace to a lost soul... I never thought I could be capable of such thoughts, but as it turns out, I wish I would have let the fucker die...