#tw depression

Besides, even if you truly did disappear one day, life would go on without you. Tears would be shed, maybe once or twice, but it’s not like it would make a big difference. 

You’re just exhausted of living like this. It feels like to be alive is a sin. You are a walking mistake, an error of the world. You should’ve never been born. If you could go back in the past, you wouldn’t even hesitate to strangle your newborn self, future fingers wrapping around the sticky soft skin of a baby just brought into the world. 

It would’ve been better that way. You’re saving the pathetic thing from the feeling you feel right now. That overwhelming feeling of loneliness, of wanting to disappear. 

It doesn’t even help that you’re a wimp. You lack all courage to harm yourself, to truly pull that trigger, to wrap that noose around your neck, to swallow every pill, to jump from the tallest structure– 

Even though you think about it, you’ll never actually do it. That’s why you’re just a stupid faker. 

That’s how you find yourself, sobbing your heart out in the latest of nights, cold tears soaking into the blankets warmed by your body. 

You bite your lip to muffle the screams you wish you could let out. 

No one else should know your struggle. It was a fake one, anyway.

Still, your mind is screeching all the same.

I should have never existed.

I will never find someone who understands me.

I am alone in this world.

I should just disappear. 

I wish that I had never been born.

You can’t shut yourself up, and there’s no one you would want to listen to you. Besides, it’s not like anyone would care. They’d simply tell you the same thing: you’re faking it. Or, even worse, they’d think the same as you and throw you somewhere they won’t have to deal with you any longer.

Killing yourself is too hard though.

Guiltily, you wished something bad would happen to you rather than to someone innocent with a will to live.

If there was a God out there, you’ve begged to Him before. 

Please, save the bright lives of those who still wish to survive, and I’ll pay their price. 

The car can crush my bones. The bullet can rush out of my head. The knife may pierce my heart. 

If I could just die for something else, then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about the act of dying itself.

It's a selfish thought, really. At least your life would have meant something if your death could change someone's own life.

Dying a hero heals the guilty conscience of dying for the sake of escaping your own mind.

“Oh, beloved,” a gentle voice breaks through the screams. “Why do you suffer so?”

It doesn’t shout or raise its tone, but its soft words echo louder than your thoughts. Your ears don’t seem to process it, so you’re probably going insane, talking to an alter ego in your brain. 

“I deserve this suffering,” you simply think back.

“My dearest love,” it says with a conviction you’d never imagine directed to you. “You, of all people, should not feel like this.”

You can’t help but scoff. Hah. Where was this personality when you needed it the most?

“I am no mere personality,” the voice responds. 

You turn to look as fingernails gently scratch against your bed frame, a tall figure rising from beneath your bed. It glows, like an angel would, but not brightly. In a dim, comforting sort of way. 

It’s a vague figure of a human, but it’s so blurred that one could mistake it for a blob. 

It takes a step closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, before leaking under the covers with you. 

It’s warm, unbelievably so, but it’s cold, refreshingly so?

“I’ve seen you cry yourself to sleep countless nights. I’ve heard your thoughts say such hurtful things. I’ve felt your pain for ages now. But fret not, dear one, for I am here.”

“What are you?” you ask in your head. 

"It matters not what I am," it responds kindly, "It matters more what you are to me."

“Will you kill me?” you almost sound hopeful.

“No, beloved,” it hushes you softly. “I couldn’t stand to do such a thing. You poor, pitiful thing…”

It encompasses you completely, filling all the emptiness inside you, even reaching the hollow cracks within your soul. 

You feel like everything will be okay, as long as it doesn't let you go.

“I crave to hear your beating heart, to feel your warm flesh, to see your blood flow,” it soothes you gently, its voice a mere whisper to your ears now. "I could never take the air that fills your lungs, for the day you cease to take a breath will be the day I wish to do the same."

Its shadow covers your eyes, numbing all your senses to the world.

“You must live on, even if it is for me and only me. You are the sole reason for my existence, and I shall become the reason for yours."