Breaking even isn’t survival. It’s denial.

My life is a downtrodden groundhogs day.

I wake up every morning with a varying degree of hope and slowly pull myself out of bed. I turn on my computer, if it isn’t already on to charge my phone overnight, and my monitor then venture into the kitchen for a fresh cup of water. I like water. Fortunate I suppose, I know most people don’t. I could gladly skip juices and soft drinks for a steady supply of water. A fresh sip splashes my mind and cools my senses. Today isn’t so bad, I think to myself. If I’m hungry I’ll peer into the fridge and shelves for something to suit my stomach’s desire if there happens to be anything at all. Occasionally I’ll skip the morning meal, other times I find exactly what I crave, and sometimes my stomach is left to growl at the visage of emptiness.

Regardless, I follow up by returning to my room. I delve back into the sweet solace of my four walls and the comfort of nothingness. It’s always soft and cool during the day before souring into bitter-sweet at night. Hours pass by as I chat with a friend or two while embarking on otherworldly quests hammering my brain with senses of joy and pleasure interrupted only slightly with sharp jolts of irritating frustration. My day proceeds with surprising glee. Dinner is an awkward event at an undersized table, with my back faced at an uncomfortable angle to the window behind me. I close the curtains every time. My mother laughs at my “vampirism” while I frown and say nothing. My mind retorts with a lengthy statement derived from discomfort at other’s watching over my shoulder while I eat. Sometimes the meal is enjoyable and filling, sometimes not. I finish my meal, dispose of the dishes, thank my mother, and return to the comfort of my four walls. Time passes, the sun sets, and with it the curtains. As night begins to fall my mood slowly mirrors the darkening aura of the outside world. The details aren’t important. My deep inner turmoil, what ails me, what makes me unique and burdens me. These special traits aren’t the disease they’re the symptoms. I’m already sick with suicide, it’s not important explaining in detail exactly why.

One by one my friends, now opposite the country of me, turn in for the night while I remain awake. Hours pass while I attempt to stuff my mind with entertaining videos, pictures, games, stories, food, and alcohol. They push back the darkness bit by bit but the end result is almost always the same. Alone in my room with people on my mind and myself on no one else’s. I yearn for affection and feel like an affliction. My constant state of existence is simply a nuisance. The four walls around me during daylight are my only comfort, and by night my confinement. Any attempt to reach out is smacked away with embarrassing swiftness and reminds me of my utter uselessness. So I yield to the world and remain in my cell. I flood my mind with anything to cheer, preventing the would-be constant fear. But it only lasts until the night, when the shadows creep into the walls and my mind. My friends go to sleep inside their homes beside their wives, and I’m left alone caught trying to hide. Depression sinks in.

I try – depression sinks in… Sometimes – depression sinks in… If only I could – depression sinks in… Maybe…No – depression sinks in…

Tomorrow I’ll be fine. I can be alright! I only need to sleep and wait out for morning when my walls are alight! My mind will burst and my friends will return, tomorrow will ignite my fading inner might! But tomorrow is just another day, and I realize now that I’m only running way. Fucking poetry man… Depression makes me this way. I’m tired of running, and feeling like this. Tomorrow I’d be fine, but only ’til the night. Why bother with another day, why bother with the cycle? It’s only repeating and repeating and repeating and repeating… There’s nothing behind these credits. I’m tired of waiting. My life didn’t amount to much; to you, to them, to her, to him, or anyone else for that matter. The moment I came into this world society branded me with expectation and demands. I was required to preform and participate in a game I didn’t understand. Why must I follow suit and stand in line? Why must you mock me for questioning my time? Why must anyone, for that matter, even bother with this crime? To you, my life was a joke, but my death will be mine. I get the last laugh. Fuck you… That’s the punchline.