• The sun comes up the sun goes down.
    The glass is half-empty.
    Pessimisstic.

    I guess all these words fit just fine nowadays. I feel like even when I can hide behind a hollow happiness, there's just no life to what I say anymore. Inspirations are withering and the warmth of happiness is a constant desire.
    I don't know if what I 'Suffered' was depression,but it wasn't normal. I saw people around me all the time, joking and laughing.A geniune laugh. Not something my wheezy hack and cough could duplicate. My eyes darkened sevrel tones of days without bothering to sleep, my body weak and aching at every joint.Especially my thoughts that always revolve around something negative. Postivity makes me feel wrong. I can't even lie to myself, but I lie to everyone every single day. I get frustrated with family, I yell at friends, and everyone gets a little farther away every sleepless night.
    I don't even know where these thoughts came from.I guess being naturally pessimisstic gets to you after a while. My writing projects are in decline, because I can't fuel imagination for such a thing.
    I lay around every day, hating every second of it. A couple days out of the year to forget about it, but self-concousness is never too far behind. Things like 'Ugly' 'Fat' and 'Freak', tie unmoveable wieghts to my ankles. I never want to move again. Sleep is a valuble escape, but hardly acsessable.
    They say it's diffrent for everyone, growing up, but I always get that crappy end of the stick no matter what the situation. But I'll probably get through this.Day by day I suppose.Yeah.Drifting on in a split personality. That's the only way out at this point, or I could try to get some help and be sent off to some freakish penetentary. Pass. The least I can do is help someone else, right?