As I sit I try to recollect the day's memories but the sounds are muffled and the laughter is distant.
I think about the cut and I think about jumping 19 stories high. I can't go inside.
I need to go inside to get my medicines and i can't jump because of the protection nets all over the windows.
I tried to cut them once but you'd be amazed at how easily you tire when you're in pitch dark depression.
Call my psychiatrist and leave a message: "I'm standing in the entrance hall and I can't go inside".
Ponder some more about my dying aunt. Next is grandma and I cried because I wasn't nice to her, not nice at all. I tore all her letters before even reading them.
After a mocha frappuccino venti I decided it was time to get the keys and open the door. I really needed to pee.
But I could have sat there all day. What is it about depression that makes us so devoid of action?
