I sit, locked inside my own Bastille of pain, awaiting my own personal revolution that will free me from this mind. i try so hard to put a positive face on everything, but it is so hard when you are still waging war with yourself. i need someone i can confide in, someone who knows what it feels like. i don't want to hurt anyone but its so hard when all you do is protrude the anger and dismay, the hate and confusion, from every channel of your mind. i wish i could tell everyone how it feels to be me. i want to tell everyone how this depression is this dreadful nothing. it's everything that you don't feel, don't think and don't experience. it is the death of the spirit, death of the soul, it is the black hole which consumes your will to live as well as your will to die. i know i have become a person of a thousand faces. i have become a chameleon child, hiding my true emotions. holding it all in, i am slowly destroying myself, dieing a little each day. slowly but surly becoming just another comatose in this world.
