@justasleebylilguylittlesle1496

1 year ago

This song reads as depression. It’s loud, and empty, and it hangs around your neck and drags you down with it. You want to see your friends? You want to get out of bed and brush your hair? You can’t. You want to, desperately. You want to be clean. You want to put care into yourself. You want to let other people know you care about them. But depression holds you by your feet, hands, and neck. It makes you useless, and you feel it. You feel your emptiness like a physical hollow inside of you sometimes. It’s self serving; a kind of sick ouroboros. You can’t do anything, even if you want it, and that makes you feel even worse. It takes up all the parts of you that are alive and bursting and drains them bit by bit. Fills active, creative brains with rot. Takes even your memories — degrades your brain function. Steals your happiness and leaves you hollow. Filled with thoughts you don’t want to think and negativity that bears down on you. Sadness. Anger. Inability to sleep. Sleeping too much. And you laugh about the dark, twisted place you’ve landed mentally, because you can no longer cry. It takes even the tears from your eyes. A catharsis. A way to cope. Something you don’t have. Sometimes you feel incredibly sad. Sometimes you wish you could cry. You know you need to cry, but nothing comes, time and time again. It’s not enough. You don’t know what could be enough anymore. You’re full of sadness and rage and apathy, and they jangle around in your useless body, fighting for a place as you stare dead-eyed into the ceiling. You haven’t washed your sheets. You haven’t washed yourself. You want to, in some part of you. It bothers you sometimes; how utterly incapable you are. Not for long. Caring takes up so much energy; energy you just don’t have. Every emotion you feel is buried under layers of tape, until the only thing you have left is that inevitable explosion. You just can’t deal with your emotions healthily and productively. There is no outlet. There is nothing. Your depression has robbed you of life, of happiness, of health, of memories, of coping mechanisms that might actually get you out of your funk. You are left with nothing but the empty rattling of bells, of thoughts colliding inside your head on a constant loop, of feelings you just can’t deal with, and it all goes nowhere, coalescing inside of your useless, empty body, and it won’t be heard, because you don’t care to speak of it—maybe because you’ve tried and failed too many times. You’re lazy. You’re useless. You just don’t apply yourself. “Just get up!” It makes you laugh; in an ironic way. Eyes wide and full of derision. You’ve heard it all by now and much worse. The only way your energy will go somewhere is when it overflows. You’re set up to be a ticking time bomb. You crack — one hundred, and then back to zero as the clock starts again. The cycle repeats. You don’t know when it will end. You are stretched thin; it feels ridiculous. Funny, even. You don’t know what to do. You don’t think you will ever know what to do... As for “getting hurt cutely” and things like that. That might allude to a thrill-seeking attitude. Chasing anything that makes you actually feel something. Causing yourself pain to know you’re alive. Laughing at things that should hurt you because the rush allows you to be present in your body for once. To, for a second, not feel as empty as you do all the time.

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