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guess is when the ache starts to eat away at their insides, and they know someone who cuts, they start to think on the idea, just like I did. Their thought process probably parallels the one I had. They figure if it helps her why can’t it help me too? And so the list grows.
    And grows.
    And grows.
    It grew from one to two. From two to five. From five to ten. I wonder what will happen next…
    I honestly hope it stops.
    I’m not sure I want to see the exponential potential. I am starting to understand this may not be a healthy outlet. I used to say I knew it wasn’t healthy, but then I only guessed. Now I fully get it.
    Regardless of why I started, I don’t want to see anyone else start down a road they cannot turn back from. That might not make sense to anyone, but it does to me. Just because I do this doesn’t mean I want anyone else to. My own hurt feels so different than the hurt of others.

Can’t Hold On Anymore

    I tried
    I failed
    I cannot overcome
    I cannot rise above
    I’ve held on this long
    But I can’t hold on anymore

Depression Doesn’t Discriminate

    Depression doesn’t care if
    you’re Black or White, Hispanic or Asian
    It doesn’t care if
    your clothes cost fifty cents or five-hundred dollars
    Depression doesn’t care if
    you’re popular or not
    It doesn’t care how
    pretty you are inside or out
    Depression doesn’t care how
    old or young you are
    It doesn’t care if
    you have kids, grandkids, nieces or nephews
    Depression doesn’t care how
    much you weigh, if you’re skinny or fat
    It doesn’t care how
    much or little makeup you wear
    Depression doesn’t care how
    many possessions you have
    It doesn’t mind if
    you’re illiterate or a genius
    Depression doesn’t care
    what religion you practice or who you worship
    It doesn’t care what
    kind of movies you like to watch
    Depression doesn’t discriminate

How Does That Sad Song Go

    I sit alone
    In my room
    Staring at the ceiling
    Hoping to find the answers to my problems
    The radio is on
    And I faintly hear the music
    I think I hear it say
    .
    She was alone
    That was that
    But he loved her still the same
    And that’s how our story goes
    .
    So I stop and think
    And I begin to cry
    When I think of what
    I’ve just done

I Hate

    I can’t begin to try and explain
    What I feel inside
    I can’t try to tell you how much I hate my life
    I hate everything
    I think and feel
    And the way I look and talk
    Even the way I am inside
    I hate life
    And everything about it
    And when I hate myself
    I hate the things around me
    And the people in my life
    But most of all
    I hate
    The fact that I’m still alive

 
    Meagan stumbled inside when she got home, tripping over her own feet. It had been one of those kinds of days. Rotten all around. But at least she was finally alone. No one would bother her if she just went to her bedroom until dinner.
    These were the moments she cherished lately. Alone with her own thoughts, her own turmoil, her own frustration. When she was by herself, she didn’t lash out at others or feel inadequate compared to their normalcy.
    Meagan threw her backpack down the stairs as she headed to her bedroom. There wasn’t enough energy left to carry it, not even to drag it by the straps. It was easier to just let it fly. And after trudging down the steps herself, she kicked it the rest of the way to her bedroom.
    She knew it was a little childish, but it felt good to get out some aggression. Without release, everything just pent up inside her, and she was worried it would eventually eat her up alive, from the inside out.
    As Meagan made contact with her bag, she imagined it was her own head she was kicking down the hallway. She even got close to giggling when she envisioned her eyes popping wide and her jaw dropping just before a hard punt through her doorway. But she didn’t actually laugh.
    Meagan never laughed