I’m Not Okay

I’m not okay. I haven’t been for the past two to three weeks. I’m not sure. I can’t remember.

These days depression is a lot more excruciating than before. I could get throught it by sulking in the corner and wallowing in despair. These days I want to tell people that I’m not fine and that I’m thinking of welcoming death. But also at the same time, I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to have to explain to them what’s going on in my head. I think out of all my close friends, only one knows what I’m going through. And I remember mentioning I’ve been suicidal to one of those five-day friends. I don’t want to bother classmates and tell them I am suffering from depression. By observation, they don’t seem “intelligent” enough to comprehend what I would say. I don’t think they’re “deep thinkers”. For the first time in my life, I wish to be an idiot because I’m thinking too much. Thinking too much deep shit that I just want my brain to shut off.

I’m not sure if I’m making any sense. But I just wanted to put these things into words. I’ve always thought writing makes things feel little less painful.


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