art therapy
sometimes getting out of bed is the hardest thing. eating is inconvenient and all i wish is that the food was somehow miraculously in my stomach. picking up the phone is like having to lift one of those logs in that strongest man competition. i hear it ringing and i see who’s calling but i can’t bring myself to say the word hello because if i pressed accept it would blow up romeo. its like that guy who sits in a hole and waits for the president to call the red phone and give the command that kills a bunch of people. i stay in my room because i’m afraid that if i go out doors the sky will cave in and my shoulders can’t hold all the weight of the world. i know its not my fault but i can’t help but think that there has to be something more. that there’s something out there that connects all these dots and blurs together the rest of this puzzle. the fact of the matter is that whatever i keep looking for does not exist because i watched too many episodes of unsolved mysteries when i was a kid. depression is the bait that caught the fish.