It's okay, I'm just tired.

TW: depressi0n, Su1c1dal th0ught$

“I’m tired,” I say, “that’s all.” And in a way, I guess that’s true. In every other way, it’s a lie. Tonight, you ask me what depression feels like. I think for a while and then tell you that its sort of like when your slowly going up on a roller coaster hill listening to the clicks as you move further and further up waiting to peak but never truly reaching the top. You seem confused but don’t ask questions. Soon enough your friends are gossiping about how that girl we know got pregnant as you laugh along with them hoping they don’t notice something is wrong. You don’t understand that I am still climbing this godforsaken hill. People call me heartless, robotic even. I wonder if they realise how difficult it is to function when your not even sure if you actually exist. Yet here I am, attempting to dodge your polite but forceful concerned gaze when you ask me what’s wrong. “I’m tired,” I say again “That’s all.” I wish I could explain how depression really feels to you and scream about how I wish I could feel something, anything at all. You really want to know what depression feels like? It’s almost like having a disinterested corpse skillfully stowed in the shell of your body. “you seem so sad lately, can’t you at least pretend to care?” they say it like it’s just that simple. You tell me thing are going to be okay and they will get better and continue to ramble on about this and that but I’m no longer listening. You could dig for centuries and still never strike my dying core. And that, you innocent naive fool, is what depression truly feels like.