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Part Of The Problem
It's cold in my house.
Maybe the temperature is what is making me suddenly depressed, because I sure didn't feel this way three hours ago.
Then again, I was (of course) depressed before that because I'm a little shit who can never feel content with her life! hahaha. ha. ha. Fuck you, self.
I'm thinking about my blood. My blood, obviously. I can't think of anyone I'd like to watch bleeding, haha, other than myself. Why do I treat myself so differently?
When I know someone is depressed, I also realize that some of the selfish things they do are not entirely their fault; it's their depression destroying will power. But when it's me who is sad, all I can do is get mad at myself for being such a neglectful person.
I never treat myself the same. I treat everyone else in the nicest way I can because of how I've gotten hurt or whatever.
I'm mad at myself, now, because it's stupid that I am dealing with depression when I SHOULD be completely fine. I'm mad at the depression itself because it won't go the fuck away. The thing is, though, I always get mad and try to change and it doesn't seem to work.
Does waiting it out work? Because it seems like, eventually, I always reach a better place. You could also say that eventually I get depressed again BECAUSE THAT IS THE CYCLE.
(all you gotta do is love yourself)
HAHA. HAHAHAHA. YUP. THAT'S IT. SO SIMPLE. SO EASY. OF COURSE. LET ME JUST DO THAT.
DONE. I love myself now. Totally.
THAT'S NOT TO SAY I'M NOT TRYING. I compliment myself a lot and make myself feel better, but my deep thoughts, the ones from that thing called the super-ego, penetrate me deeper than the ones I have to manually think of.
I can think I'm pretty but when I accidentally trip over my feet or something, the back of my mind will be calling me an "embarrassingly clumsy idiot who can't even do the simplest things".
Thanks, brain. You're so healthy.
I wish I could be temporarily dead. That'd be nice.
(That's called sleep.)
I'm talking no dreams, nothing. Nothing. Okay, dreams, and maybe heaven even though I don't believe in it.
AND YOU'RE PART OF THE PROBLEM, FUCKER.
Okay, I'm done with myself and my pinky is cold and I feel empty. I don't even want to do anything I normally do. Minecraft is boring, so is netflix, so is reading, so is drawing, so is listening to music, GODDAMN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?
(*cough, cough* depression?)
Shut up, I know. Stop being a sarcastic bitch, okay?
(Nah, man, I keep you aliive, ah ah ah ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive)
I hate you.
(NOW who's part of the problem?)
Oh my god, good fucking night.