FML But Text Me In The Morning

I've often thought depression was just the result of paying attention.

What do you do when you know you need help, but you know there is no help for what you have?

There is no time for this.

Things must be done.

All day..everyday.

Things must be done.

Money must be made and bills must be paid.

Or else we learn the meaning of REAL suffering.

Who has the time?

I do not even have the time to feel my own pain.

No one else has the time to truly understand the anguish of another.

The world spins so fast.

I can never keep up.

I hate alarm clocks and deadlines and taxes and political agendas.

I hate the news and sports and reality tv and I love/hate the fact that everyone loves this fucked up shit circus.

I have never belonged.

I am too weak...or am overly hostile.

I am happiness wrapped in sadness.

Anger solves nothing.

Tears solve nothing.

Apathy wears thin once again.

They call it mental illness, but it is not so simple.

They offer me their gods, but I cannot buy in.

It is that which torments me which lets me know I am alive.

It is that which keeps me up at night that exhausts me completely.

I envy simplicity.

Those readily entertained and easily amused.

I am a genetic mutation that will be phased out.

Whatever is keeping me alive is also killing me.

I am lost and I am scared.

And yet I am alright.

I've finally given up thinking that I was going to mature past this or figure it out.

This must be who I am.

For better or for worse.