I remember the moment I first realized I was depressed.

It was the third time in one day that I'd run to the bathroom to cry for no reason. It'd been two weeks since I'd had 24 hours of existing with a dry face. I sat there on the floor with my head in my hands. My throat burned and my nose was stuffy.

I remebering chanting over and over about how tired I was. How it was ok to die now. How I'd be happy to die.

Maybe it's easy to remeber because I still feel the same sometimes.

I've loved William Shakespeare since I could read. My great-grandmother was an english teacher and, after her death alot of Shakespeare's works were lying around. Me being so desparate for new words it took no time at all for me to delve off into him. Dictionary handy of course.

With the coming years alot of drama and speculations surrounded William's existence and me being the fan I was I'd have to ask a lot of questions.

The first thing I'd ask about wouldn't be about William himself but of the afterlife if it exists. Then I'd go into the rumours of him sleeping with his mother. If he was really insane or just imaginaitive. The list is very long so I'll stop here.

But in my personal opinion I think Will and I would get along just fine.

For a person to be so full of life and young, death is always heavy on my mind. Why am I not dead? I really want to die. Who ultimately chooses who dies or lives? Why did the people who've already died been lucky enough to live and leave?

Very few understand the differences between positivity andf optimism. Positivity is a perspective not an emotion or addiction. Just simply a viewpoint.

That being said, wanting to die can be a positive thing.

I'm sure that the words would change if I had died 20 years from now instead of 20 seconds. But, here I am. Dying.

I might've exaggerated 20 seconds but if you're counting I'll haunt you in the afterlife. But let's not waste time and get into these instructions.

I want to be cremated. Since I couldn't be burned alive which is how I fanticized my death. I'll settle for being burned dead.

My music playlists are made by moods I've felt hearing those songs and titled collectively due to said mood.

I've wanted to die since I was 8 so don't be sad because this wish is long overdue.

Don't lie when you eulogize me. Accurately describe how evil and loving I was. Don't forget the pain and hurt I felt on a daily basis caused by people that were supposed to love me. Not to make them feel guilty but to remeber me as accurately as possible.

My picture must be picked by 20 strangers and invite those strangers to participate.

I want rainbow roses to be set in the ocean annually to remeber me.

Make sure my kids don't stay sad and no fighting for at least a complete hour of the function.

Remeber that even in death the love I had still sits in my unbeating heart and I'm always around.

Emotions have undertones.

Anger has the most confusing undertones, because anger mixed with any other emotion is contradictory.

If I'm sad because I'm angry then I am neither truly sad or angry. Same goes for angry/happy, angry/scared, etc.

It's not that I don't truly feel these emotions together. I just can't understand how I can.

As if anger is complex and diverse.

Come with me to a place we've never known.

You're supposed to be here because your heart is my home.

Why didn't you stay with me? An answer I'll never know.

My heart aches more each day because I feel all alone.

When you apologize in a way that makes me want to beg for a chance to atone.

You used to say to me that you'd be here until your soul left your bones.

Here I am once more ready to bend.

I write sad essays of texts but never hit send.

Why don't I matter? I've been tossed in the wind.

You tell me to ask for your love like there is a reserve to lend.

When I die there won't be a funeral to attend.

So love me now because you promised till the end.

I woke up in a place I don't know. I don't remember how I got here, and I'm not trying to be racist here but I see a bunch of brown people with straight hair. But to confirm my assumption, after I got up against the will of my pounding head to ask where I was and where the nearest drug store was. The words "No hablas ingles," tumbled out of the older womans mouth.

So I referred to my wonderful older college friends checklist of "What to do when lost and either hungover or drugged." Step One was to assess your symptoms. I have referred to my symptoms of being hungover list and concluded that I am indeed the victim of post-intoxication.

On to Step Two, searching your body for any clues, marks and/or new tattoos. After close inspection I've sucessfully determined that no needles have punctured my skin. And finally Step Three was to figure out how to get back home.

After some cold water to the face I decided I was awake enough to continue the fight against my migraine and queasy stomach, well enough to try my luck in remembering my third grade spanish class past my colors. (Because that's the useful stuff to teach kids in other languages.)

When I walked outside I listened (and prayed) to hear someone speaking english. To my luck they did and I ran over to them as best as a zombie like myself could and begged them to tell me where I was. I didn't realize until the words poured out of my mouth that I just told a group of men I didn't know that I was lost with no recollection of my past who knows how many hours.

"Ohhhh. You guys remember her yea? She's the one who accepted the big man's challenge." One of them said to the group.

I frowned and turned him slowly back towards me remembering to avoid fast movements.

"The big guy?" I asked frowning. More so from the sun than confusion.

He nodded his head and I winced making him stop and laugh. A concerned one at least.

"You and your friend group came off the cruise boat tour. They're not too far away seeing as tourist don't venture past a thirty minute walk around here. It's messed up they left you, but as bad as you look right now if I didn't watch you down thosed shots last night I'd think you were dying of ebola. You should just head back to where they left you and wait." He said shrugging.

I nodded my head and turned away to walk off before realizing I didn't ask where the store was for much needed medication.

"Hey, do you know where they sell aspirin around here?" I asked turning back to face him.

Right as he was about to answer two hands grabbed my shoulders and started pulling me backwards. The person said something to make the guy smile and wave goodbye, but my brain wasn't catching up.

"We clearly said on the note to wait until we got back with breakfast." What I now realized to be my friends said to me as the rest nodded their heads.

One held up a bag smiling and I took it ripping into the package of aspirin before the wamr danish and coffee.

"We got to go to make it back on the boat to get good seats for when the bar opens." I said smiling with a mouthful of pastry.

I fight with myself.

I've been fighting since the day I was concieved.

I have to fight to be myself.

Fight to be heard and acknowledged.

Fight to be respected.

But when I get tired of fighting I'm seen as weak.

When I fight too much I need to become humble and meek.

Why must I fight to fight?

I mean honestly at this rate any fight is right.

Why is everyone so afraid of dying?

Every attempt you make to not die just gives death more time to figure out how to kill you. Sometimes I’m kinda jealous of the people who know the time frame of when they’re gonna die. Even though the next day they might get hit with a bus or something they’re still having a percent of an advantage.

If I was told I had two months to live until they were going to lay me down to die I’d appropriate my life differently and be my true self. I’d enjoy the time left how I wanted and walk right in to die happy.

But other non-dying whilst actually dying people. The people with no time frame of reaping have to live each day worried about the consequences of yesterday. “I can’t overspend because of this budget.” or ” I can’t act that way because it might come back to bite me next year.”.

I’m not saying to feel lucky because you know you’re dying (even though we all are). I’m just saying I’m jealous because I’d like to know. But I also want to be a zillionaire before I die and.......welp.