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2013-01-31 14:10:16 (UTC)


January 31, 2013 Thursday 2:10 PM

"Home" by Phil Phillips

Change of season drags along a new smell, a new sky, and new feelings. Mixed feelings.
How strange it is to feel the gentle winter wind, but to smell spring. Tomorrow, February begins. It makes me nervous, to fall asleep to the sound of pounding rain, the racing wind, and the scent... Oh, that scent.

It means a million things. My birthday is coming. Summer is coming. Life will get better. You will be better.

I'm scared. The feelings are always lies. I spend my summers alone, holed up in my house with a razor and a laptop. This doesn't seem bad, but it is. At the same time, my most happy times come from the summer. I feel relaxed, and when I do see my friends, I am able to enjoy things I love like I used to.

Then again... The nights are worse. And no one can hear me scream.

I'm waiting... I'm waiting.

I don't want to be alone idon'twanttobealone I will do anything to not be alone anymore. I honestly think it is my own fault that I spend so much time alone, but I still wish someone who at least try to force me out of my funk, instead of just leaving me be. I maybe responsible for parts of my depression, but I can't crawl out of this alone.

I have felt this since sixth grade. Almost three years, now. I can't even remember what it's like to not be depressed, because I get depressed all the time, no matter where I am. It seems like a lot of my friends are or have grown out of their sadness, but not me.

That's probably because of genetics

2) dad had depression. i still can't believe this one...

3) mom has had depression for as long as I can remember.

4) caroline, crying. She used to cry more often. She's happy now, though. I hope.

The smell always makes me so happy, but here comes the loneliness. Without school, I will no longer have to force myself to get up every morning. I will mostly like start sleeping until six PM again. And then I will only be awake in the night. The night kills me.

PS: Where are you? I am waiting.

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