Harry Gets Depressed And It’s Infuriating

The irony is not lost on me.

 

I guess it could be said I deserve to feel depressed.  Not sure it’s even actual depression yet, to be honest, as I’ve yet to visit a head examiner to confirm it.  Nevertheless, I have been an emotional wreck for quite some time and it is really bloody difficult to get on with your life when you’re constantly thinking about ways you can kill yourself.

 

Not that snuffing it is going to help.  I knew the whole time I wasn’t going to kill myself but for some mad reason my brain just kept saying things like

 

“You could cut open your arms and get in a nice warm shower, just let all the life flow out of you.  You could do it right now.  You can do whatever you want, no one will stop you.”

 

Or

 

“Look how high up you are.  If you jumped off backwards, you could watch the structure growing into the sky while you fall.  What a beautiful way to die.  Maybe this is the best way for you, I think you should do it.”

 

But here I still am, feeling normal and furious again.  But for how long?  I honestly haven’t a clue what caused the miserable mood I was in and I’ve no idea what caused it to stop either.  I am not a particularly helpful person.  I suppose the only thing I did was fight against the thoughts whenever they came up, no matter how relentless.  If you’re reading this and feeling down, just keep fighting.  It might take a long time, but that negative bastard inside won’t outlast you if you just keep fighting it off.

 

Maybe I’ll write something more entertaining next time.

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About harrypeat

I'm a happy-go-lucky chap with a zest for life and the resting heart rate of a yellowfin tuna. I love long walks on the beach at dusk, paintings of elderly couples, and vegan dinners by candlelight. As well as being a talented rhythmic jazz guitarist, I am a part-time vblogger and all-round gymnast.
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