You don’t know what it’s like to feel broken inside
You may think you know me, but I’m not the person you think I am.
There’s a part of me that you’ll probably snort at should I tell you. But tell you, I will. Because even though you’ve heard of it, read of it, touched upon it, I need you to know how it is to live it.
I’m battling depression and anxiety.
A black venom has spilled all over me and hardened, paralyzing me. I’m living in the past and future, but never in the present, in a dungeon while the rest of the world cruises along aqua waters.
I’m watching myself die. A very slow death.
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