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Kiddo Offline
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Name: Stevie
Age: 28
Gender: Female?

Posts: 15
Join Date: March 20th 2009

I'm no masochist....but... - January 24th 2010, 02:26 AM

Depression is something that's always associated with suffering and pain, the need for it all to end etc etc.
I know that, and I know I feel it. But I've come to realise that a part of me enjoys it.
Perhaps "enjoy" is not the word, but for want of a better, it will have to do.

It's what I know.
I like that wrench in the stomach throughout the day, the guilty relationship I have with alcohol and drugs, the bitter thrill I get from saying "I'm always alright" when I know I'm anything but.

I like that little stabbing feeling in my abdomen when we quote bits of Hamlet in my Lit. classes ("But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue") and I know that everyone else is going "Hmmmm, what can that mean?...isn't that fascinating".

I like being on the edge of tears all day, and then crying silently throughout the night about absolutely nothing specific.

I like lying in my bed, in a listless ennui that begets this tinnitus-like misery, for hours and just feeling the tingling all over me that seems to press and hold me there.
(and as you can see, I like the pretentious twaddle that runs through my head when I'm there.)

I like thinking about the stars and the universe - and how small they make me feel.
I like thinking about homeless people and the ones that help them - and how guilty it makes me feel.
I like thinking about the future, university etc. - and how unlikely it all seems.

And I absolutely hate it. All of it. It's completely ruining me.