Confession

I know I've written a lot of pieces like this, and you guys might be getting angry at me that I can't get over my negativity. But this is how I help myself.Purifying my pain on paper.Depression is everywhere. Depression is being reminded every time you see two people in love that you are different. Depression is listening to love songs wondering if you’ll ever understand what it feels like to be insecure of losing someone you never had. Depression is wondering who will love someone that can’t love themselves, thinking about all the pleasures that love can give that you will never feel.The things I long for are socially unacceptable.And so I succumb to shame before I can even say my crushes name. Depression is crying in your room when everyone is asleep, trying to muffle your cries so no one will hear. Depression is leaving breadcrumbs of your depression everywhere for people to find, in the hope that someone will realise and help you back onto your feet again. Depression is listening to thinking out loud, fantasising about resting your head against your lovers beating heart, but remembering that it’s sick and that I should feel ashamed for these feelings of love.A flower unfurling toward the sun like it was always supposed to do, but being poisoned with shame because of it.I can’t say my crushes name. Wouldn’t dare. The horror of revealing the truth to anyone would leave me paralysed in my bed for weeks. Nothing scares me anymore. Nothing could. Nothing is as terrifying as the fear of losing everyone I’ve ever loved just because of the feelings I cannot control within me. I poison myself everyday. Take another pill of self hate to wash those feelings away until I am numb in my bed, watching the world with bitterness and resentment that I could never be like you. That I was never born like you, and could be congratulated by society with marriage and euphoria for the love I feel. I am so alone all the time.Things that get me through the day are watching people I love through my phone, pretending that they are singing to me in the same room. That perhaps I was still in high school and everything wasn’t as painful as it is now, and I was in the music rooms with you, singing on piano while you played guitar and sang. I picture you smiling, your boyish charm and the freckles on your neck and face all too perfect in the light from the window. Your hair, perhaps a little too long, but perfect nonetheless, sprinkled across your forehead and falling over your eyes, with you gently brushing it aside so that you can look at me and smile once again. The way your hand strums the guitar, so effortlessly and so casually, like the arm of a tree swaying in the wind. I could kiss that hand, but I feel guilty for even admitting that. The way your top button at the front of your shirt is left undone and I can see the veins in your neck protrude every time you strain for a high note. It’s perfect. The way your face winces and distorts beautifully every time the chords ascend, to then dissolve into a smile of embarrassment which is all too wonderful to comprehend.But it’s only a thought. Only a dream that I’ve never felt. Only because I can’t handle the judgment. I can’t handle it. Even now, I can picture my relatives looking at me, thinking I’m a pansy. I’m a pussy, a coward, a faggot. Oh, the horrifying words paralyse me to my room. They make me never want to see the light again. I Imprison myself in my room, in my own mind, only to look out through my glass window and wonder what life could be like. I know what you say, I’m a coward for not being me and being true to who I am, but I can’t do it. My mum, my dad, what will they think of me. My mum, crying, wondering how I turned out this way, shaking her head in despair. The pain all too strong in her heart. The only thing she can do is turn away and refuse to talk to me, because every time she looks at me, tears like thousands of tiny shards of broken glass well in her eyes. And I can only look down in shame, wanting to kill myself again.I’m so afraid and depressed. I don’t know whats worse, the anxiety or the depression. Save me someone. Someone make me feel something again. I am so alone. Help me please. Mum, Forgive me for the way that I am. I don’t want this pain anymore. Forgive me mum.