A lot of people don’t know. Yet they think they do. I fake a smile almost everyday just to please others. But I’m dying inside. I’m dying. Not because I’m afraid to live but because… that I don’t know. I always tell others you must love yourself but yet I fail to love myself. I’ve lost myself to a storm. I’ve been at my lowest peak for as long as I can remember. And It is depression. I’ve realized not many people want to hear me mooping and sobbing about how I feel but they rather hear me speak on false hopes that I have for myself. This is depression. Another victim. Another scar. Another person whose voice doesn’t get heard. You would think a asylum would help. But to Lock me up and put me in a stray jacket. Isn’t what I want. “But Isn’t that best way to solve depression? To lock you away and make sure you’re safe?” This is depression. Not wanting to do anything because you fear the wrong thing may happen. Or that people are intentionally doing things to hurt you. And no one wants to die alone trust me. I’m at my happiest when I’m not surrounded by my thoughts.