A brief narrative on depression.
|There is a ball of light that strikes my eye as I walk by. The light follows me, it judges me. It is yellow now, pleased. It isn’t always pleased, you should see it when it’s angry.
I go to the store and it tells me what to buy. I walk on the street and it doesn’t allow me to speak with anyone. I hardly disobey the light because it is so difficult to. If I talk to someone, even just a cashier it is angry and turns from its yellow state to its black and uses its thought transference, to distract me, make me afraid, speak timidly like a young child in the 50s might to his abusive father.
Even when the ball is happy and yellow I cannot be satisfied. A slave owner would be happy about his obedient slaves.
I once tried yelling at the ball and that is when it got physical and started cutting me. Or I should say it made me cut myself, I never want to and I hate it for what it does to me. I could never tell anyone about the ball because who would believe me? They would call me mad. I am not mad. I only wish to be free of my oppressor.
The ball now often does not allow me to get out of bed. I dare not challenge it because when I do it threatens death. I can’t go to school, even if I did the ball’s torments wouldn’t allow me concentration. No one likes me anymore, the ball has taken them from me and I can’t seem to fight the ball.
I’m beginning to think death can be my only resolve, the ball thinks it will always hold that over my head as if life is still worth living. Unless the ball wants me dead, if that is his goal should I allow him to win? Or does it wish to torment me for years to come? It isn’t even worth pondering.
Yes! That is the only solution! Death can cure me! So please kill me! Kill me now! Kill me!