i wish i could move beyond this feeling, but it grips me like a vice, tightening until i want to scream.
but as if i'm living in some kind of dream-like reality, i can't.  i can't even ACT how i feel - can't hurt myself, cant cry, can't show on the outside any of this inner hell.
fuck, i can't even show it in my eyes, my voice. even the crease of my fake smile has to be perfect so none of you have a clue how dark and desperate i'm feeling.

so i lie here and distract myself. anything to take away from the pounding in my head. that little voice that screams FAILURE, FAILURE, FAILURE. the voice that won't be silenced no matter how much i achieve or how much i drink. so to distract myself i turn up the volume - LOUD- and i listen to every Ian Curtis song ever made and i relate. so completely and utterly, that for a while i am lost in the music. lost in his final words, forgotten like the stark, oppressive beat of the drums.

and i wonder. what happens to all the forgotten people? all the people like me.
i thought depression was cancer.
i thought depression was rape.
i thought depression was suicide.
i thought depression was you leaving me.
well no, it turns out depression is far more insidious than that. depression is waking up on christmas morning and not having one damn reason to get out of bed. knowing there are no family, no presents, no friends, no lovingly prepared christmas meal.
depression comes in a plastic container.
depression is a microwave meal on christmas day.