The End?

It Starts

I start my day waking up to the sound of an alarm, just a sound ringing in my ear until I make the effort to move away from my dreams full of peace and quiet in order to turn off the constant reminder that there is a day of hell in front of me. And that's what it feels like, hell, just walking around all day alienated and zombiefied in order to please those more important than you.

How did they become so important anyways? Shouldn't we all be equal, all share the workload? Those higher in power just sit on their ass all day and point us in the direction they think we should go. It's hard to be worked all day and get nothing in return. I didn't ask to be born or to work. I didn't ask for this. Why is it that people think that since we are here we want to be.

It hard trying to work all day to please others. To do things they won't do. If they won't why must I? It's not easy bending over to carry the weight of the world. I can't stop. I need the money to live, to eat, hell I need money to breath. The sick world just polluting itself all the time. I need the money to get a roof over my head. Is it worth it? All the money I make just gets spent again and again, until I have nothing left, over and over again I pay for things I need but do I need life? It's far too expensive, over my budget. The weight I carry to keep myself above water is getting heavier by the day pushing me closer and closer to hell.

Why am I depressed? Why did I have to be the one with anxiety? My parents just tell me I'm faking but I'm not. I'm hurting. It hurts to fake being happy. It's not a joke mental health is not something to laugh about. I'm not faking being sad. I can't understand how me not wanting to cry isn't enough to stop. I want to stop. The tears don't. They continue to fall forever. The rythme of the tears hitting the ground slowly pushes me to sleep again.

published june 2018