Depression doesn't always mean you're suicidal. Not always. It sometimes mean you'll cross the road and not bother to look both ways, because you just don't care. 

Well then, be honest with me, please. Am I just a dog chasing a car again? Am I just waiting for a few more days before I get in another emotional car wreck? Because my heart has felt like it's been worn as a pair of shoes for the past year or so, and I can't take much more of it. 

2

Humans are born to live. From the moment you are thrown into the universe, you breathe. eat. drink. procreate. It is what we do as living organisms. 

But why would one procreate, let alone find a reason to stay alive, without something to stay alive for? Humans don't stay alive for the sake of survival,but rather for the sake of things that bring purpose. 

Religion. 

Art.

Music. 

Love. 

In an endless oblivion of darkness and space, humans are the only species primitive enough to care. You must do what you love. 

The best things in life always end in conflict. That is why humans are primitive. 

Just find me a reason or a way out.

I fucking hate sharing a room. Because, pardon my language, but sometimes I just need to scream at the top of my lungs how much I hate myself and the decisions I make to fall for anyone's shit spewing from their mouth any time they say they ever even thought twice about how I felt for once. I have to suffocate on my own tears until either I fall asleep, or I just die. And I know it's not what I'll want in the log run, but my bones supporting chest can't handle this earthquake my heart is putting on much longer. I just can't be here. I just can't find a reason. 

I'm so afraid to even speak, because the stitches you sewed on my lips are so fragile, I'm afraid of breaking them. 

~a.j

I don't know when I fell in love with you. 

But I do remember when I held your hand, thinking of how hard it'll be to let go. 

Can we fix it?

I think I know what it is. I have this obsession with fixing things. My fingertips are like screwdrivers, and my fists are like hammers. But my problem is, I'm trying to fix everything, and all with broken tools. 

Autunno

I'm falling, and it's like cocaine. This pen flows more easily when it's wet, and I'm not sure if that's a metaphor or not. I know that when I can't breathe, I can write. And I know that my blood flows through the pen and onto the page. Almost like this depression is a guilty pleasure. Like that of stealing, or preaching hypocrisy, my mouth says one thing, but my head begs to differ. the other night I lay down, and my speakers were broken, so all I could do was listen. So I closed my eyes and I tried to sleep, but my heart trying to escape its bone cage was too much for my bare chest to handle, so I just thought. Like I was told to. 

Row

I hate seeing me like this. Alone and misty eyed. A hole in my chest is expanding every second of every day, and it's getting so hard to hide. Please help me. 

Neo lament

I don't trust myself to save myself. My regrets outweigh my success, and they pull me down like an anchor on a sinking ship. 

I threw my pearls before swine, and they returned them, 

Shimmering. Glistening. Shining, In the sweat of rapture. 

I beg my own self to come out from behind the mask, because the world really isn't as bad as it seems, but I feel sometimes that I can't take it the way it is, that I need to escape. Let my feet off the gravel and fly away. Because no matter what decision I make, I never seem to be where I want to be, and whether I move north south east or west, it all seems down. I never should have let go. 

The icy ground in 75° heat

His bones grow weaker, as the red sky is painted over with dark violets and navy Blues. His headaches thump harder, and the voices scream louder than ever before. His bare feet are stuck in the snow, and so he just runs and runs and runs, because his feet are so numb, that he can't feel the earth cracking between his toes as his jaw jitters a hymn dedicated to the cold air. 

He knows where he's going, but he doesn't know how to get there, so he stays where he's comfortable, in his burning soul running in circles, immune from the polluted air in the wooden city around him. He neglects a stranger's 

Hełłø

Because the trees he stands in look the same in every direction, and he won't go where he doesn't know, because his broken smile can be seen through a peephole in a door. 

He wraps a blanket around him, but still feels exposed, like a punishment for revealing his deepest fear. He wears a mask to shut out the ghosts for one second as he puts his hands to his face, he thinks he can make it. 

He hopes he can make it. 

Promises

Take my arm and carry me through the trees again. Because I'm alive right now and I want to stay this way. 

Tell me you want me to stay alive, and mean it, because promises should go both ways, you try to love me and I'll try to save you. 

Because there's a big difference between someone who wants you, and someone who would do anything to keep you, and I want you to be that difference, the one who would do anything to keep me, because I'm a pair of jeans that's been worn out before they've even been taken off the shelf. 

My eyes are worn out from seeing nothing but shattered glass dreams, and hearts bursting at the seams. 

Promise me you'll love me at my best, because I swear to God I'm always trying my best for you. 

Vessel

I've always had a fear that because I've been so emotionally destroyed, that'd I'd never be able to feel the way I should when someone close to me passed away. I learned the hard way today that the heartache I felt actually could get worse. I don't know if it just hasn't hit me yet, but the second I touched her hand, though lifeless, it was warm, and the dam behind my eyes burst like a balloon. I still don't think it's even hit me completely but what confuses me the most is how life is so fragile and easy to break. Hers was broken in the blink of an eye, though the length of a nightmare, this week has been full of them. She was strong, she was funny. She was the best sister for my best friend I could ever ask for, and though I didn't ever say much to her, I've known her since she was the age of my youngest sister. I've seen her grow into such an amazing young girl, that i just wish I knew why she was needed back by our fathers side. But though she lay there lifeless, she was in the room. "I'll see you soon, maylee." I could almost feel her hold me back.

She was in the room. 

Just not in that vessel. 

Rest in beautiful peace, Maylee Christine Anderson. 2/11/1999-5/29/2015. 11:45 A.M. 

I'll see you soon. 

Goodnight

Because I miss someone telling me that every night. So nobody will ever get the last goodnight. 

It's time to stop being sad, she said, because it's that easy. All you've got to do is just man up and jump in the water, because when you've got that many tears, nobody can tell underwater. 

I saw a man outside my window, and I didn't know if he was dying or living. But he was breaking down in the middle of the day, and I suddenly felt like I knew him. 

I've been thinking too much

God please send me a sign that someone's there. Because it's 12:14 AM, and I'm giving up, and my chest is swollen from breathing in the same old air. Please send me someone, because it's 12:16 AM and I'm giving up. 

Please give me help, because it's 1:30 AM and I'm giving up.

I'm a GØNER

Even when I'm having he best night of my life, every note reminds me of you, and how I just want to bring you flowers every day until the day I die. I wanna be known by you. Don't let me be gone. 

Don't let me be gone. 

Don't let me be 

truce

I made a prømise tø sømeøne I've never met, because he asked me tø stay alive, and nø matter høw hard I try, ør høw much I lie tø myself, I just prømised him I wøuldn't die. And every night he saves my life, because if it weren't før this music, I døn't know høw I would have føught this. 

Rain

It's raining, and I begin to lose track of which is my tears, and which is the rain running down my face. 

And as it pelts my car as peaceful as it sounds, it holds my fears with a grip tighter than my chest. 

The rain says: We are so much bigger than our fears, but we always cower beneath them, we see them, we always try to flee them, but the truth is that we can step on them, because they're just spiders and our shoes that carry us through the streets are almost an unfair advantage. 

Torture

I'm afraid to look to the sky, and I don't know why. 

I think it might be because I know I'll see God, and I won't be able to make eye contact because of my dirt ridden soul. 

I'm afraid that I'll get a drop of water in my eye, and heaven forbid they see me cry.

I learned my whole life to toughen up and no matter how sore it makes my throat, to hold back the tears because these grey clouds can't mean rain. We need shine from you, son.

Tonight

The young boy wants to move ahead
And the old man sings rewind
I wonder when in this time line
We’ll break to the other side

Maybe there’s a span of time
When we feel we’re neither nor
Not wanting to go back again
And not wanting to go forth

The point in life must be
Pretty dark and hopeless
Terrifying
And if you’re asking me when that is

It must be tonight

The old man sits all by himself
And thinks of better years
When he used to believe in stars
And would dream away his fears

The young boy moves so fast he doesn’t
See the stars above
And all his dreams are crushed by old men
Who didn’t dream enough

We must all agree
There’s a point in life when darkness breaks our
Brittle hopes and dreams
And I’d say

It must be tonight

Stay with me

And it must be tonight
It must be tonight
Save me tonight
It must be tonight

Just a thought

We tend to not like what we don't understand. That would explain a lot about myself 

Gone, gone, gone.

He wore his heart stitched to his short sleeve shirt where everyone could see his scars from past love. 

She wore her heart so deep beneath her bones that nobody could see her soul, even when they looked her in the eye. 

He wrote day in and day out because his love was so full that his mouth was bursting at the seams with what to say. 

She said nothing at all. 

His wearing his heart outside of his chest really made things complicated, because in the hallway as he sprinted, he'd brush up against other people, wearing out the stitched on patch he called his heart. And it's almost like when he brushed shoulders with her, that it finally just

Fell off. 

And as it slowly drifted to the ground like a snowflake in a calm snow storm, she tried her best to catch it, accidentally letting it slip through her beautiful hands and onto the cold, cold concrete. As he scrambled to pick it up, they must have made eye contact, because the heart he was bending to grasp had melted beneath his feet, sliding through the cracks into the dark soil below, never to be found. 

Trust me.

Don't put your happiness in other people's hands. They'll drop it. They drop it every time. 

I got lost along the way.

Give me back the summer of '13. When the only thing we worried about was if we worked together that night. 

I want a summer where my chest isn't split in two, and where every time I close my eyes, I don't see bad thoughts, only her. 

Let me look at my story and not feel my heart getting hammered down into my aching stomach. 

Take me back to then, when I didn't have to hide every one of my feelings because I was afraid of losing her. 

I want to experience what it's like to be wanted again, and what it's like to have someone tell me yes for the first time since August 27th of 2013. 

I want to drive the canyon without having to hold back tears because of the memories I miss from there. 

I want to stop burning down like a mansion, because the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and I've fallen far too hard, and my veneer framework wasn't made to burn, it was made for a family, a heart and a mind to work together, but this house is a broken home and I can't seem to get pills for my heart, because my mom thinks I just need to sleep more, but I can't because I can't unscramble my brain, it's like an egg just sizzling on the pan when my egg shell skull 

Crack

         Crack

                   Cracks

And my brain just oozes out onto the pan, into your hands where I can just slip through the holes, and onto the floor right where I started. 

Please just put Humpty Dumpty back together again. 

I don't need all the Kings horses. 

Or all the Kings men. 

I just need one person to please pick up my pieces and 

"You can't love someone unless you love yourself."

I never loved myself 

But you....

I loved you so much that I forgot what hating myself felt like. 

Le Farfalle

I find myself unable to think straight, and you make me wonder what I even want. 

I think I love you, but how the hell can I know anything about chemistry if I'm not allowed in the class?

At least I hope what I think is true, and that it's not just my year-young soul, excited and enthralled by the chase. 

And when I have it, I hope my soul doesn't grow old with you, because even after a lifetime in hell, I still find my way back to your eyes, your skin, your lips, there's nothing I don't feel my heart rate increase when I see. 

So take my hand and run and run and run away, onto the beaches, so we can burn it to the ground and I can kiss you by the fire, to the sound of the screams and cries for help which I'll ignore because nothing else matters when I'm with you. 

Innocence & Instinct

You strip me down, the layers fall like rain. 

I want to let down my guard but It's like my heart is my only child, and I have to protect it with my life. 

You circle the pain inside my soul, and reached inside my silence. 

What was found is lost again, and I have nothing to say but

Take it all away. 

I'm in such disbelief at myself for letting it happen again, where my demons in my head hurt me to the point of having to snap. 

I'm breaking I can't do this on my own. 

It all changed one night. 

I looked into your eyes. 

And I liked what I saw. 

Security

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

I really hope this works, because I'm getting tired of being tired. Because I want to dance in a ballroom with eyes as blue as that dress, but my guard won't let me. 

I am an addict with a pen.

My trial was filed as a crazy suicidal head case. 

So much pressure

My brain is playing a game with me, and it's trying to tell me what I need, but my heart is too busy looking at what it wants to hear the muffled screams of my thoughts as they're gagged by my depression. 

The kaleidoscope I see things through has been shattered, and I can still see a million of you. 

I can't even focus on writing. It gets harder every day. 

Breakdowns.

for the first time in my life, I didn't want to stop praying. 

I have that empty feeling again

I don't know what to say anymore, because I'm so lost. I thought I knew what I want, happiness.

But all I do want is you. Whether that means my happiness or not. 

I'll give up a thousand lifetimes just to look into your eyes like I used to, because according to you, I got a glowing in mine, as if I looked unbelievably happy. 

And I can't think of any other way to explain it, other than my chest is a disease, and you are my vaccine. Because when I'm with you, the hole in my chest is filled to the brim with what I may consider love. 

Like my chasm is but a small crack in the sidewalk when I'm with you, because that glowing in my eyes is just my soul trying to see yours. 

But I don't know when I'll ever get it, because I want to give her a fair chance. Because I deserve more. But it's almost like I don't want more. I'm perfectly content putting up with my loneliness if it means I get to be as happy as I am when I'm with you. 

Some words

My lungs are on fire and my mind is filled with distractions, 

Oh why, God, why do I have to sleep alone? For I fear my distractions are like a transparent mask when I pull the covers tightly over my face, my demons still find their way into my cold and lonely bones. 

And this is why I need the accompaniment of others, because only I can prevent forest fires, but only with your guiding hands to stop my chest from burning like a bonfire. 

And it seems like when I'm trying to impress other people, the match is lit and it's under control. But when I flip the switch on my bedroom wall, the light ignites and the reflection in my eyes from my tears only seem to make it spread, burning the tips of my fingers, causing the match to fall and ignite the floor beneath my feet. 

The only problem is, my demons are fire proof, and their weakness is you. So when I'm around you, it's like you put out the fire, and silence the screams in my head even for just one second. 

"But you seem so happy around me!" That's because I AM. And I'm sorry for burning up the whole house, but I just don't want to be sad anymore. I want to be happy. I want to blow out the candles on my birthday cake and not have to worry about the wish not coming true. I just want to be sure of something for once. I want my lungs to breathe in oxygen, and not be suffocated by the smoke of my fear. 

Needles

It's like every night I open up this page to say something new about my unhappy state of mental illness. I try and find words to express how I feel but they all sound the same at this point. And all I'm searching for is some person who cares. Someone who understands. They don't know how lonely it is to be a kid. They can't see me under my blanket fortress the so built around my bottled up screams. They can't hear my bones tremble as I am forced to lay on the ground thinking how much easier it would be if I just accidentally died. Not by my own hand, but if I actually just died on accident. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. 

Night thoughts

Its 2:00 in the morning and I'm giving up. 

Truth.

They say it's easiest to quit smoking after the fourth day of being smoke free. 

I'm hoping the same standards apply when it come to you, because your eyes are like nicotine, as addicting as a cigarette, and I need to quit before it kills me. 

My lungs are a dry forest, and your smoke hitting the ground will set my pine trees on fire, and for some reason, I smell tobacco between my fingers..

Dear Tyler:

I just wanted to say thanks for saving my life every day. I can't even begin to count how many times I think about taking my life every day, and every time, your words have helped me back from the ledge. And I know my demons might not seem like much to people who see me, but my demons are at the center of my heart, and they keep getting bigger, and my heart is about to burst. And sometimes I feel like a kitchen sink. Nobody else knows what that means. But I do. So thanks again, Tyler. For saving me. 

Sticks and stones and my schizophrenic mind.

I wish I was better at letting go. And I wish I could scream at your face, YOU WILL NEVER CHANGE, AND I AM LETTING GO.

But I can't even go 24 hours without a failed attempt at contact, and I'm losing faith. I don't feel holy anymore, and I just want to be loved. 

I hide behind the tears of a clown, and I can't claim "I'm extremely jealous of your happiness," because I can't be taken seriously. Like my mental state is a joke. Or that it's funny that I get trapped inside my brain when I'm alone at night. 

I'm really sad with people always picking me up not to take me with them, but to move me to a darker corner of the room. I just want someone to pick me up and squeeze me as tight as my nine year old sister does when I leave for work every morning. I want to be as happy as the people around me. 

Freckles

I really struggle with not just calling you to tell you I love you. Because I don't know what I'm more afraid of: getting no response, or hearing you say it back. 

Giving in, or giving up. Either one.

I need you, and you need me. We just need each other in different ways. It's almost like I have a piece of your puzzle and you have a piece of mine. And I think we need to swap places for just a second and finish our puzzle, because my puzzle is a heart, and without your piece, it's broken. I've done things I couldn't ever confess, and without that piece, I know I'd do it again. And you see, the problem here is that I'm in love, and you are not. And I love the way you can get the best of me, because what are best friends for, if not to

I feel great.

I really do. Because though duct tape can't fix everything, it can definitely numb the pain for a night. 

Daymares

I have daymares. They're like daydreams

But nightmares. 

they send chills down my spine because they remind me of moments I wasn't even there for, 

And I put my hands in my face because I don't want my daymares to see me tremble the way I do, because that's how they know they've won.

I almost crash my car because of it, but sometimes I think it would be easier than feeling a constant numbness in my chest. 

And I don't find much to stay alive for, but I still do. I just can't help but plug my nose as this tidal wave crashes down on me, crushing me and hitting me like a ton of bricks or another wordless night. 

I always think it can't get worse, so I'm good right where I am, because it feels like it's not gonna get better. And the fact that my low expectations have saved my life is rather sad to me. But you know what they say:

Nothing kills man faster than his own head. 

Ms. Communication

I'm saving this for when I can trust you again, And if you're reading this, then you know you've done the impossible. 

I had less than 6 hours to dream, and I gave one of them up to you in exchange for a bittersweet nightmare, one where the dam finally broke.

Where I learned things I maybe didn't want to hear because a part of me knew it already. 

Where I learned that we both have the same fear of speaking, when it could've been overcome at the same time. 

I learned that I forgive people too easily, and that maybe I shouldn't have forgiven you. But if there's one thing I've learned from my parents neglegance, it's that patience is key. 

Even though at time I felt I had to resist putting a hole in the nearest wall, or the chills went down my spine like throwing boiling water into -20° weather, the last thing you said was "I love you too."

Maybe things did work out. Unless you don't see this. But if you did, then thanks for cooperating with me. And for listening. It means a lot. 

With love, 

An Addict With A Pen. 

Duct tape can't fix everything.

Sometimes I think I have the strength to tell you what's in the stomach of my brain, but no matter how hard I try, I can never throw it up onto the page where you can see it. 

Sometimes I think I have the strength to tell you "I miss you too, but do you really mean it? Because I haven't seen you in a month. And all I want is for someone to care." But all that comes out is: I miss you too. 

And there I go again, getting my strings pulled by a puppeteer that isn't even there when I look up. 

Soccer.

I remember when I was a kid, and I was put into sports because my parents had hope for what I would become. I remember all I saw on that open field was neverland. I never saw a sport, or white lines painted on the grass, I saw a place to do cartwheels, and run as fast as i could without being judged. 

Then I remember the realization that I wasn't good at what I had been put there to do. That I wasn't as aggressive as the other kids on the team. 

I was always told to sit this one out at recess. 

The only thing I could seem to do correctly was swing on the swings. Even then, I could never do a backflip off, like the kid next to me. I remember that jumping off the swing felt like it could last forever, because I felt so alive up there. 

I remember always being the last one picked in dodgeball, and always the last one back in, because I was never too good at throwing the balls very far. 

People always ask why I'm not as excited as them. I don't really know why, maybe I'm just afraid to be. 

If home is where the heart is, then what do I do with this empty chest?

My life for the past few years has been a plane ride full of empty promises and made mistakes. The only problem is that I have no idea where this plane lands. 

I've picked up my pieces and had to reassemble them more times than I can count. I tried so hard to peek through the blindfold this time around, but no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to pin the tail on the donkey. 

I can't go see a doctor, because I'm too afraid to even get my oil changed. If it means coming outside of my wall, I tell myself it's better to not do it at all. 

How can a doctor tell me what my problems are when I can't even diagnose myself with a sense of self worth, or a simple ability to tell someone how I feel? Now THAT's why I have this page. Because I'm too afraid to rip the duct tape off my heart, for fear that it might hurt too much. And I'm sorry, miss you-know-who, but lying's all I've learned, and I know you hate when I write about you but I also hate that even if I did tell you in person, I'd not get a response. 

I wish to myself every 12 hours to hear from you, or to at least have someone come along to mend this rift, but every 12 hours it seems someone comes along just to make it wider. 

And I pray more than I've ever prayed in my life to be able to find some rest from this tornado in my head, from this hurricane in my heart, this tsunami in my soul, and I've reached the brink of desperation, and I find it hard not to 

Jump. 

Post-it one-liners

Sometimes, I laugh really hard because it numbs the pain burning in my chest. 

Hope & My Heart

Dear journal, today was a different day. I woke up later than the midday sun came across the sky, and I spent all day with my best friend. The night started out fun, and I didn't feel any pain up until around 11:00. It's funny how it almost becomes a ritual, every night I can feel my heart trying to bury itself in my ribcage, and my brain telling me I need to stop listening to my heart, and start listening to my head, because all my heart wants is to be hurt. 

My heart has suicidal tendencies, feelings of worthlessness, and a lack of motivation. My heart has trouble being around and dealing with people. My heart has trouble focusing and concentrating. 

But it has no problem with weight gain, no my heart is in fact so light that I either can't feel it beating in my chest, or It needs to be locked up in a hospital again. Either way, my heart has lost his mind. 

My heart likes to tell me to pursue love in the direction in which it's running away from me. And in fact, it's duct taped my brains mouth so that it can't tell me to speak up and to stop running in the wrong direction. 

It tells me that I have hope in places where hope avoids so carefully, because hope doesn't want to get hurt. 

As it sinks down in my stomach, it works its way around my body, cutting off the nerves I use to feel, making me blind to the pain I'm feeling because my hope doesn't like to talk to me. It makes its way up to my brain, causing every song I hear to remind me that hope isn't here right now, that hope is too busy giving her attention to everyone, because she gave me what she wanted to, and then turned her back on me as she placed me on the shelf. And I'll maybe just sit here until hope turns around, or maybe sees my emotions and conquer her fear of stepping into the dark, because I really need to be pulled out right now. I really just need to talk to hope. And I need hope to talk to me. 

"You wake up one day, and your legs, they just give. And you can't run anymore."

-Michael Townley 

I'm only writing this because I know you hate texting.

I haven't actually seen you since day before the New Year, and I gotta say that even when you're sick, and when you're dressed like you just came from the ski resort, 

You're easily the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on. And I'm gonna try so hard to listen, and be a part of the conversation, and to talk. Because I want you to be happy, as much as I need myself to be happy. 

I don't wanna be heard, I just wanna be listened to.

I have a strong testimony of 11:11 wishes. And I find it funny how we become religious only when it's convenient. How we can sin on the weekends, but sing praise in church on Sunday. 

We find ourselves praying only when we need something from our God, and scream at him when he doesn't give it to us, like our lives are supposed to be perfect if we say a prayer right after murder. 

We fall to our knees so much more when tears fall down our face. We pray to a God that we don't believe in, because she's got time while I've got freedom. 

I just find this double standard so funny, and ask why we make promises in the first place if we aren't going to keep them. Now maybe the reason nobody has kept promises they made me is because I couldn't keep my promises until now, and even when I try, I still end up in tears. 

Because God, my knees are getting bruised, and my heart is getting sore, so please if you won't answer my prayer, at least read this letter. 

1:11

Does 1:11 count as a wish, too? Because sometimes I feel like one wish at 11:11 isn't enough to get what I'm wishing for. 

Too late now, it's 1:12. 

Don't go

You are so spectacular. You glisten in the dark of night. You sing in the quietest of places. Your song is that of need, and I find myself singing along. 

I find myself shivering even under my covers, because I'm afraid of not finding my solace.

I find myself waiting all night, alone and dead, patiently in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for a call, literally praying to God that I can find some way to fill up the cracks. 

I wish silently that you would speak your mind, so I can untangle the knot in my heart and in my head, because I feel so alone even with my loved ones surrounding me. 

I find myself trying so hard to open my mouth and speak, but the way I'm gritting my teeth and spelling out my own lies almost makes it not worth anything.