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[October 9, 2016]
I didn't think I would ever become so hopeless that I would want to die.

Up until today, I had only experienced a lack of will to live. I didn't know I was capable of desiring death.

I would be surprised if I could be! I would also be horrified.

I used to date a soul who was completely against suicide. He absolutely did not tolerate it, and so I came to believe that I, too, did not tolerate it.

Ah, but lo and behold, here comes today, a day where I wake up with constant visions of killing myself. Wouldn't it be nice to not feel as I have been feeling anymore? Wouldn't it be nice to stop having to worry about things and people and myself? Wouldn't it be nice to stop making assumptions that hurt me? And nice to stop learning about painful circumstances?

If I were to talk to you in person, my impulsivity in live conversation would probably lead you to believe that the state of my relationship is depressing me, but it's not. It's my depression that depresses me.

Please don't blame him. He might not seem like the best soul at times. All this apprehended neglect, all this lack of a foundation for my trust, all this inability to seek consolation in him, it can't possibly be him. Such a deplorable figure of love, it can only be a false projection by the Shadow.

And you know what, Depression? You are so close to winning. You are so close to taking another life. Do you enjoy it? Do you enjoy terrorizing humanity?

Am I not an innocent soul? What have I done that is so heinous as to bear with this? "It's not your fault," but when is it ever? Depression doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints. I guess I just got unlucky.

And everyone who knows me also is unlucky, unlucky to know me. Unlucky to have known me.






yum_puddi