Sometimes I wonder how the world would be if I had committed suicide all those years ago. Would it be worse, or better? Maybe I did die in a parallell universe and they actually know. But here, or anywhere, I will never know. Every single person has a big affect on others. Since I know the people around me I have an impact on them, and because of that they are who they are which then affect others who affect others and so on. If I had died 7 years ago I would not have met most of the people I know. That means that the world wouldn’t be the same. But the thing is even though I lived, I still feel dead inside. Since people sometimes ‘don not see me’ or forget I’m there I often wonder if I’m in fact am a ghost, a ghost with a beating heart. Can I live again? Or is there no rescuing my jet black heart?
Last week I dared say the words which has been on my mind for years but I have never said out loud. “I am afraid of losing my depression.” You see, I fell into my depression when I was 11 and I have very few memories of the time before it begun. The darkness within me is all I know and if I would loose that what would I be? My darkness drags me down but also builds me up. I am my darkness. Although every now and then it consumes me or drifts away. What would life be without this? Is there even a life without this? That is what I am afraid of, that if I loose my depression I will truly die, because there will be nothing left of me.