She felt herself breaking at the seams. The delicate fibers that had kept her together for so long were ready to snap, freeing everything that was contained within them. Her eyes were hoarse and her throat was tired from listening. Tears streamed out all over and she knew she felt the release. It was the feeling of liberation. Of finally being able to express everything that was being held in for so long. She shook as she cried. She held her face in her hands. Her knees looked so tiny. She sat alone at the bottom of the staircase, in front of the fire escape door. There she could be alone and hide the shame that came with being emotional. She felt the room closing in, an all too familiar feeling. She felt as though the world was caving in on her and God willing it would this time. The filling that the Earth could implode on a human being and that the molecules of the body could become nothingness so as to float forever as one with the Universe. She dragged herself up, checking herself for spiders. Her fingers were numb and she knew her face was still red. Why did she continue to feel this way? Was it because she forgot to take her Prozac? But one day, and she took it as soon as she remembered. It could not be just that. She knew that there was something else deep down inside that had upset her so, it was all-the-bullshit as she would say. She could not bear dealing with various individuals' needs and desires.

This young girl thought of running away as she drove home away from her home-away-from-home. She often fantasized about this when she drove around alone. She could disappear and be left alone forever. To never be put-down and condescended to again. Away from accusatory eyes and statements. Away from herself. She constantly contemplated how to figure out who she was and is. Was she changing and improving? Or was she as she had always been: doomed. A final act of desperation, she thought of swerving her car but decided against it because if she survived she would have to live with the consequences. Depression is a terrible, terrible disease. One that eats away at the humanness in all of us. It makes us numb and disillusioned to what life is for, if it is for anything. Why must life have a reason? If there is no reason, would it no longer be worth living? She felt that the only thing that kept her going were those beautiful moments. Even though they were few and far apart, those beautiful moments brought her comfort to know that she could still smile and laugh.

One day she will defeat her demon. Little by little the demon within will be smothered and eventually the demon will die. She will take that demon and bury him. Give him a proper funeral because she was better than the demon. She knew what it was to love and to cry and to bleed. She knew.

I wish I could create so as to present the way I see the world. I know that we all see it differently and that our experiences lead to each of us having our own realities. I wish it was possible for all of us to show our world to each other. Perhaps, this is what blogs are for. To present other ideas and emotions about the world. About Life.

I get called selfish a lot. I don't feel that I am. I feel that my problem is that I shut down when I am pushed. The person that yells at me the most for this should understand this best because he does the same. We don't manifest 'shutting-down' the same way. He stops talking and I start crying. When I reach the edge, things begin to bubble out.

I don't know how to taper that edge. How to redefine the breaking point when I feel it coming. I wish I could redraw that line but it is impossible. I can tell weeks in advance that its coming. Then I cry uncontrollably for a few days and it feels as though it will never get better. I always believe that I am better and beyond that when I feel fine. I was scared because for the first time in a long time, I did not think it would better or that it would pass. I still feel that way.

How do you explain to people that you are depressed? That nothing can make you happy and you prefer to not feel happy. Usually, I can trick myself into believing that I'm happy, but I could not do it this time. I could not fake it. Maybe I'm tired of faking it. Maybe I'm just tired.

One friend said that I need more Jesus. Like its medicine that you swallow down and everything is better.

I want to create and write and draw and paint. I'm sad and I need an outlet.

I have faith in God. Very different from her's. But it is faith. I never believed in Church, mainly because I never grew up going. It annoys me that people assume that this means that I have no faith or that my faith is less than their faith because I do not attend church. It does nothing for me and I rather not sit there pretending to care about what the man on the pulpit says. That is fake and disrespectful to God. I also do not like other human beings telling me what is right and what is wrong. Especially, when they are sinners. I do not like hypocrites. I absolutely despise hypocrites. If I could avoid speaking to judgmental people forever, I would. I do not like people that sit there and judge others. Especially, when it is all negative. To say who goes to Heaven and who does not, is pretty hefty. You are placing yourself in a power position that only God has. And I don't care what the Bible says. People read the Bible and rant about how homosexuality is evil and Muslims are evil and premarital sex is evil and everything is evil. And it makes me question whether or not these people missed the memo about loving one another.

I've been angry lately and it is because I feel trapped. I feel those walls closing in again. I need space and time to think. I feel so guilty for spending so much time thinking about what I should do to improve myself that I feel selfish, like he called me.

For the most part, I have always felt alone.