I laugh, I shout, I cry, I try to be happy when I feel nothing inside me, I try to feel like I’m enjoying myself when I’m out doing something, anything, but I feel like nothing inside, I look happy from the outside when I’m actually dying inside. Dying? I feel like I’m already dead. I feel like a dead man from the inside with no soul and no happiness, and I feel like I’m satisfied with what I have, yet I never am, because how can a dead man be satisfied? How can a dead man feel happy? How? I wonder how. How can I be alive anymore? How can I feel something? How can I amount to something? How? How to act happy when I’m not? Why do I keep trying? Why do I keep trying to be happy? Why do I act? Why do I act like I feel something when I don’t? Will this ever end? Will my life always be like this? Will I ever feel something? Will I always act like I feel something? When can I be the man I am? When can I have a soul? When can I feel something? When will I feel what I feel from the inside? Dead.
It feels like I’m stuck in an elevator. Neither going up nor going down. Stuck in the middle. Stuck in between floors. Stuck between levels. Not going anywhere. Just stuck there. Not moving forward. Not going back. Just stuck. I keep pressing the alarm button but no one hears. I’m alone here. Why is no one around? I’m getting claustrophobic. I’m banging the doors. No one is here. I wish I could get out. I wish I could go up. If not up then at least down. I just wish to go somewhere. I just wish to do something. But the doors won’t budge; the doors won’t open. Why won’t they open? Why won’t the elevator move?
I’m stuck in an elevator. In between levels. Levels being the stages of my life and the elevator, me.
And me being stuck here as I wish to move but I can’t. I’m just stuck not moving anywhere. I hope I move. I hope I go up. I hope I’m not stuck anymore in the elevator of life.
I want you to leave. You monster. You never leave. You go for some weeks and come back. I thought you were gone. I thought I left you behind. I thought I could move on with my life. Finally do something. But you didn’t leave, did you? What an asshole you are. Nobody likes you. Nobody wants you. You call yourself depression. What you are is a monster; you’re the monster that lives in me. And never leave. Why don’t you just leave? Why can’t you let me be? Why do you want me to suffer? What have I done? Why me?
Will I ever escape from this prison of loneliness, depression and anxiety. Will I ever? Will I ever jump that wall to freedom? Will I bet reach the land of freedom and liberty. Where I can do anything I want. Have fun. Real fun. Enjoy. Laugh. Cry. Shout. Will I ever? Who locked me here? Why did he lock me here? The walls seem so high. The fences so strong. I have a fear. That I’ll never escape. Is that the truth? Will I ever escape? Can I even escape from this prison of sadness. Who will help me escape? What tools do I need to escape? Why can’t I just go damnit? I want to have fun. I want to leave. Can I even find the happiness I seek beyond those walls? Why? Why are these walls so high and strong? Why can’t I see what’s out there? Why am I alone? Why’s no one here? Why does no one visit me? What crime is so wrong that I have been left in solitary for so long. Will my life sentence ever end? Why have I been locked here? What have I done? Will I ever escape this horrible prison? Why me?
I feel nothing. No sadness. No anger. No happiness. Just nothing. I feel empty. An empty vessel. A man with no soul. With no heart. Why do I feel like this? Will this ever go away? Will I ever feel full? Or even with just a little bit inside me. No feeling of anything. I act happy. I act sad. I act angry. Yet I really don’t feel anything. It gets bigger and bigger. This feeling of nothing. I laugh. I shout. I cry. Yet nothing. I don’t how to put this into words. Does everyone feel this? Am I alone? Why me?
The space I hate so much. Yet I love so much. The hatred I have for it. Yet the comfort I find in it. That empty space inside my soul. I’m with my best of friends and still feel that empty space. Be in a crowd of hundreds yet still feel in a room all alone. I’ve started to endure this empty space. I’ve started to fall in love with this empty space. In love the feeling of being disconnected and alone from the rest of the world. Yet I don’t want to be alone. I can’t decide. And thus. I loathe it. I hate it so much that I try my best to fill it. To fill it with love, with money, with food. Yet I know. This space cannot be filled. It’s like a part of me is missing. I’ve tried the best to fill it. Maybe I even did fill a fraction of it. Yet I just can’t get rid of this space. I can’t escape it. An endless void. A well with no bottom. I can’t explain this space. I don’t know what’s missing from there. Is there anything even missing in this space? The space I call loneliness.
I’m falling in the hole again. The hole I’ve been in. The hole that I hate. I don’t want to go in that hole. A monster lives in that hole. That monster is depression. It keeps pulling me down. I’m kicking. I’m kicking right on his face. I’m suffering. I’m trying my best to keep him away. But he finds every chance to pull me down. Every little slip and he’s pulling with all his strength. His friends live in that hole too. Anxiety, stress, loneliness and all of his other friends. Just waiting for me to fall so they can consume me alive. I’m scared. That I’ll fall. I don’t want to fall. Oh God. What if I fall? And there’s a slip. Soil moves beneath my feet. The monster finds a chance. He pulls me. I’m kicking as hard as I can. I don’t want to fall. I want to go to garden that’s just in view. The garden full of happiness and satisfaction. I want to live a happy life there with my friends and family. Why am I stuck in between. Why me? I call for help. There’s no one around. There’s me and the monsters. I’m scared. That I’ll fall. I don’t want to fall.