I hate depression

I hate fighting with myself every day.

I hate that I can’t hate depression enough.

I hate the Stockholm syndrome that I developed for it.

I hate not feeling safe.

I hate feeling tolerated.

I hate not being immediately gratified.

I hate not knowing whether I’m meant to be breathing. The anxiety suffocates and surrounds me daily. The oxygen can feel like drowning sometimes.

I hate lying to myself that I’m fine. I hate reciting the same script to others and expecting a different response.

I hate pushing people away because I think my existence is a constant agitation. Or I assume their motives aren’t for my well-being, but for their comfort.

I hate that failure is a friend that calls me every day and sarcastically asks me how I’m doing as if he doesn’t already know.

I hate that my addictions become my anatomy. I wake up and sleep with them still covering my skin. I wander tainted, cursed and conscious about my own wretchedness.

I hate that my pain hasn’t led to any gains, but simply more pain.

I hate seeing God as an afterthought. I hate the way God made me. I hate my prayers replicating the dialogue of an awkward first date.

I hate not feeling happy when I should be. I hate the optimism that abandoned me long ago. I hate the innocence that traveled back in time and stayed there.

I hate the curves of a smile. The highs of hope that fades with each passing second. Happiness, a foreign feeling I can never get familiar with. Forever a stranger.

I hate the version of people that pretend to care. The voices of those that don’t understand but assume an all-inclusive solution exists and I just have to reach for it.

I hate the version of you that do care but doesn’t show up when I need you the most. Furthering the cycle into infinity.

I hate venting and no one truly listening.

I hate regression.

I hate accepting the way things are.

I hate my thoughts.

I hate my doubts.

I hate losing people.

I hate not having enough words to describe my condition.

I hate that I wrote all this, knowing that I’ll probably repeat this later on.

I hate everything.

I hate living.

I hate depression.

Creatives And Copycats

A place for writers to share what they created from within and copied from their surroundings. All forms of writing are accepted, as long as it comes from an honest place.

Bryan Lordeus

Written by

Copywriter | Blogger | A creative polymath with lessons to share and poetry to spill.

Creatives And Copycats

A place for writers to share what they created from within and copied from their surroundings. All forms of writing are accepted, as long as it comes from an honest place.