My Disease

How dare you proclaim that I am perfect! See these scars? I am weak! See these tears? I don't even know why I'm crying! My mind is my prison, keeping me locked up while depression holds the key! I try to move past the little things, but they are like cannons, going off in my head getting louder... louder! To the point that I can't even hear myself think! How dare you proclaim that I am perfect! I was happy once, but then my demons grew and possessed who I was. They left me a mess, a shell of the person who used to be alive. Who used to be alive, because now I feel dead inside! Who I was was an inmate sent to death row, charged with the crime of joy. I was happy once, back when depression was just a fairy tail, and when I never knew the feeling of "emptiness". I feel empty and cut myself just to feel something! I choose pain, because nothing else will work. I would rather see my crimson life source running down my arms, than to talk with a friend. A friend that my sickened mind causes me to hate. My emotions are like a minefield. I try to be wary of my steps, but then someone trips me up and I explode into tears again. I would give anything, to be able to run across that field without blowing up! I would give anything to be me again! I would give anything to rid of this depression my oppression, the bane of my existence! I am not perfect, I am not sad, I am not happy. I am lost, I am a prisoner, I am innocent. I am a writer, an artist, a girlfriend, and a daughter. I am a good student, I am a good friend, and I am a good person. My only flaw... My disease... My depression.