I'm a danger to myself in the worst kind of way.

I want to be happy again.

Black nail polish represent my depression. They warn people beforehand what's wrong with me.

My heart feels like it's about to shatter in a million pieces. But I have no one to pick them up for me.

There's no surgery that could fix the pain inside.

It really hurts to be me.

Pressure starts to build in my head. Blood begins to pump faster. Breathing becomes a memory.

If I told you I loved you, would you laugh? If I told you I was going to kill myself, would you smile?

Depression is like a hot iron, if touched it leaves its mark on you forever.

If I was an angel you'd be the devil.