Hope dies young

Anxiety and depression. They're two twin sisters holding hands in a dark hallway. Much like the twins in the movie The Shining. The more you try to fend them off the more you get enthralled by their voodoo shit. And before you know it, you're on the floor in the fetal position, screaming, crying, completely helpless. You lose control of yourself and your place in the world. It's like you're coming back to your own body after some sort of amnesia induced time travel and you forget who and where you are. Your heart beats so fast you lose count of its beats. You can't breathe or speak. You have this look of terror in your eyes and everyone around you look at you as if you were completely fucking insane! And for a few moments, you feel completely fucking insane! And absolutely no one understands what the fuck it's like. It's so frustrating! It makes me so fucking angry that every time I try to explain what it's like people just tell me it's a phase and that I just need to have fun. I mean... what the actual fuck? A phase? Really? Do you know how long this fucking "phase" has been a part of my life? Years! Ever since I can think of myself as an actual fucking adult. That's how long. Then people are like... and by people I am now talking about my older sister... she's like: "man, you used to be cool! We used to have so much fun together. What happened? Why are you a party pooper now, man?" You know what, Mad? Because I don't fucking want to be drunk and high all the time. That's why! Oh. And by the way... fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking bullshit spewed out from your high horse! You think you have fun? You just get drunk and act like a fucking idiot! That's not having fun. That's numbing out the pain. At least, it was for me. I would numb out everything with booze and pot. So much so that I was someone else. I was still a wreck. But, apparently, I was a fun acceptable wreck. The wreck that I am now, is not someone people want to hang with. And it's cool. I would rather keep my wit about me than numb out all the bad shit just so other people can feel comfortable around me.

They say talking to people about it helps. But it actually doesn't because no one understands. How could they? They haven't been trough shit like this. They're not sympathetic. They try to minimize what I describe so that they don't feel bad but they end up making me angry or making me feel like crap. And the ones that want to sympathise have no clue what to say. So they basically either say some sort of shit like they're at a funeral and then change the subject. And you just sit there going through what you described word by word because you're in disbelief... how can someone just dismiss you so incredibly fast and easy? Like they're turning a page on a fucking book... a page they don't really want to read so they basically skim through it, read something they don't like, and turn the fucking page. And you just sit there... and you hear them talk about their day and shit... you can hear the sound of their voice but you're not really processing what they're saying because you're too busy thinking of scenarios in which you punch their fucking face for being such inconsiderate assholes. You have this blank stare but they don't even notice because they're just barking up a storm about some awesome sweater or whatever they bought on sale. And you literally think "what the actual fuck?"

And that's how you become a reclusive depressive anxious cunt. You wake up, take your happy pills, wash up, get dressed, have breakfast. You go to work, keep your head down, do your job, have lunch, do your job some more, keep your head down and go home. You shower, eat dinner, listen to music or watch whatever show is on that day. Take a sleeping pill so you can quiet all the voices and thoughts running will in your head. Slip into bed. Look at your phone a thousand times hoping someone will drop a line. No one ever does. Not even your sister. Some nights a few tears might flood your eyes because you feel so incredibly lonely. You wipe those tears and swallow all your hurt. You fall asleep watching some movie you've watched a thousand times before. You wake up the next day... rinse and repeat. But some times, for a split second, you dream... You dream of better days and that one day, one glorious day, you'll stand up to those bitch hand-holding twins and you regain control of yourself and of your life. You almost smile at the notion of hope. But hope died young and her twin sisters killed her...