I’m depressed and understand they won’t. People say they do up until they walk away and don’t.
People say my soul is beautiful up until it isn’t. It mattered in the moment but upon the next hour it simply didn’t.
© Delia Ross. 2020
I’m depressed, moody, withdrawn, emotionally detached, unavailable in every capacity. People swear they get it up until they’re screaming profanities at me for how evil I am for not giving them my time (or love for that matter). I am a fallen angel and a creature of the underground, I’m not capable of love. But a monster I am not. Just simply void and numb. Sorry not sorry. SURVIVAL MODE
What does all this mean? Depression means I’m incapable of forming attachments. Or joy. Writing is my only escape. It was my escape when I was a little girl and couldn’t escape all the abuse. I wrote poetry in between classes at school. On the bus. On the toilet. And guess what? I still do. Only now I’m sharing this part of me WITH YOU. But I lose friendships and followers because I’m unable to maintain communication right now. I keep telling people I’m depressed and suicidal but it’s like wind over the ears. They still need me to provide a service for them. I cannot. I barely can brush my teeth on some days. This is not me you’re meeting but some ruined version of what I might have could of been… (and yes under all the suicidal ideation I am gentle and loving and worth saving). So bye.
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