Where Did The Sadness Come From?

I suppose I've been feeling a little better lately. As soon as I set foot in this building, all of the happiness I managed to paste in my mind melted away. It's too hot, too loud here for anything to stick for long. I feel terrible, and the initial happiness bliss that follows a solution to a problem has worn, and now, all that is left is a pounding headache, creaky bones, and a wish to be somewhere else.

The Ledge

I'm just above the surface, still victim to the whirlpool that's trying to drag me below. I can't remember how to swim, and I'm close to giving up this fight. The water disappears suddenly, and I'm on a ledge. Not a ledge. The ledge. I feel like if someone were to push me a centimeter further, I would tumble over the edge. I don't want to fall, but I feel like there is nothing else I could do, no other options. Please, if you see someone who you might think is feeling the same way as I, approach them. Promise me you won't make them feel worse about what is going on in their minds. I've backed down, for now. But what happens when I'm feeling unusually impulsive, and I've had a (usually) bad day? What happens when my moral compass is tampered with, broken, and I turn in the wrong direction? Do I completely swerve off the edge?

"It's the few, the proud, and the emotional."
- Twenty One Pilots

Trying To Be Happy

My life consists of being ignored. I hate it when people ask, "What's wrong?" Then, when you're telling them what's wrong, they're looking past you, over your shoulder, trying to block out whatever you're telling them. Why did you ask if you aren't going to care? Me telling you what's wrong is me trusting you with the burden I'm carrying, trusting you to listen. Not listening is breaking that promise. I don't care if you're not going to care. Fine by me. But if you tell me you care, just so you can half halfheartedly hear what I'm saying, I'd rather you didn't.

If I Died...

What if I died? Would you cry? Would you mourn? Would you continue on with your life, as if I was still alive? Would you be angry with me for passing at such an inconvenient time? Would you be frozen, stuck in one place? Would the memories we shared burn you down? Would you simply be numb, with no feeling left at all? Would you consider death yourself? Would you go through each day for the rest of your life, wondering why I left so soon, what you could have done to save me? Would you attend my funeral, or stay home alone? Would you honor me with music, or defile my death wish by mourning me is the screaming silence? Would you think of nothing more than my rotting flesh beneath the ground, or the soul that was once bound to my body having been freed?

Think about it; the question isn't if, but a matter of when. Someday, I'll die. I will be gone, with no way of reaching me, and you will still have to consider what you would do...

"We're gonna die, it's just a matter of time. Hard times come, good times go."
- Fall Out Boy

"Sometimes Quiet Is Violent" -Twenty One Pilots

Leaving me alone in the quiet brings about thrashing thoughts, thoughts that are designed to destroy. Destroy me, I'm assuming. I'm not easy to crumble, but it's not easy for me to stay standing, either. The silence is the most painful thing. The silence before a storm, the silence following a horrible argument. The seemingly peaceful quiet before someone finally explodes. I think I'm going to explode one day, and anyone around me is going to fall to their knees. 

"If my heart is a grenade, you pull the pin and say..."

- Fall Out Boy

I Wrote This In Global

I'm sinking lower and lower, when will I just hit the bottom? I really feel like I just don't care anymore, like all the things that once mattered to me the most have lost all meaning in my eye. I feel like I am slowly dying, crumbling from the inside out. What I don't understand is how my foundation has fallen, and yet, I'm still standing. Drain out the poison that's in my heart, the venom in my tongue. If you do, will there be anything left of me? My sickness seems to be what makes me who I am, my sharp tongue a definition, a signature of my personality. What will I be if all the anger and hatred is leeched out of me?

"My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction."
- Tahereh Mafi
Shatter Me

I Have Literally No Idea What I'm Doing With My Life

I feel so cast off by the world, as if I don't belong here, which is what I've come to believe. I always feel like I'm just sitting there, waiting for something meaningful to happen in my life. I'm trying to pull myself up out of this goddamn hole, but it's hard to do when not all of you wants to get up. Every time I try to pull myself back up again, I notice another piece of me missing again. Lately, it's been my ability to feel. What kills me the most is that most things I would normally care about are slipping away from me, away from my mind, like I just don't care anymore. I promise, I want to care...

"Cause sometimes to stay alive, you gotta kill your mind."
- Twenty One Pilots