Why?

It seeps out of her pores. The thick, black tar. Her joints ache unable to move from the sludge that encases her body.

The pulse in her wrist builds up. Every heartbeat, asking to be released. To relieve the pressure. Anything to help relieve the pressure. Sleep barricades itself behind her eyes. Every second, every minute, every hour a fight to stay awake. And when it becomes too much she succumbs to the sweet embrace of the bed like that of a lover.

Tears spill heavily through eyelashes as she stares empty eyed at nothing. There is no reason to cry.

Every day is a fight. Rationally there is nothing to be upset about. Yet the depression demon is there. Fighting like hell. Telling her she’s worthless. Telling her the world is better without her. Feeding her lies. And they’re winning. Every day the rational side gives in just a little more because what is the fucking point of all of this. In the end does it even fucking matter. No one will care. No one will remember. No one remembers now. Why continue to suffer?

@JaneJane