The Beginning of Depression. **Trigger Warning**

I told my friend that I’ve been having intrusive thoughts about hurting myself.  Like, I fantasize about the blood and stuff.  She’s supporting me now, but I feel all alone.  Why couldn’t I be born without mental illness?  Why do I have to see and hear things and twitch and be manic or depressed?  Why must I take my medicine?

Well, I have to take it in order to survive.  I’m not being dramatic.  I’m being realistic.  I literally have to take my antidepressant or else, I’d have at least a suicide attempt on my hands.

The only person that would comfort me left my life, and now, I don’t know where to turn.  I want to pick up cutting again, but I’m scared to.  It’d be an addiction for me.  It’s a ritual for me.

I have to take a shower after I cut.  I know, but it cleans the cuts, and I feel….  I feel like after I’ve done such a bad thing, I want to be clean again.  It sounds odd, but that’s how I feel.

This is just a depressive rant…. Let me stop…

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