Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

Thoughts at the back of my head.

You are constantly told in depression that your judgment is compromised, but a part of depression is that it touches cognition. That you are having a breakdown does not mean that our life isn't a mess. If there are issues you have successfully skirted or avoided for years, they come cropping back up and stare you full in the face, and one aspect of depression is a deep knowledge that the comforting doctors who assure you that your judgment is bad are wrong. You are in touch with the real terribleness of your life. You can accept rationally that later, after the medication sets in, you will be better able to deal with terribleness, but you will not be free of it. When you are depressed, the past and future are absorbed entirely by the present moment, as in the world of a three-year-old. You cannot remember a time when you felt better, at least not clearly; and you certainly cannot imagine a future time when you feel better.

— Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression.


I'm sorry, can I start again?

It was a struggle to get back up on both feet after suffering a terrible fall. The faces ahead were filled with sulks accompanied by nods of disapproval in unison. Every move made was scrutinised with discretion. It was an outrage of modesty, but nobody said anything. There was no kind Samaritan to stop the scene from unfolding into a series of distasteful acts which further aggravated the antagonism.

Where do I go now?

How would one get out of that place unharmed? It was practically impossible—perhaps mentally doable—and filled with so much adversity. Dubious looks were further exchanged as the struggle to stand up continued. No one offered a helping hand. Every one was taking a chance to have a go at pushing down the one on her knees.

You win. Please, stop.

No amount of shouts and screams could eradicate the shouting. Nothing was mutual. Everything had always been a case of superiority versus extreme inferiority. There was nothing which could be done about it, or was there? Even if there was, there was nothing which anyone wanted to do about it. The curtains were closed. No one could see through it and no one could do anything to alter the predicament.

Get out of my head.

Nothing could possibly push those thoughts of help-seeking away, but they didn't stay any way; any form of screaming for rescue was eradicated as every one continued their turn in a circle. The hierarchy was absolutely impossible to penetrate, but the situation allowed for some of it. What else could be said or done? This was a dog-eat-dog world. You played me well.


'Cause I just feel so tired.

Like I need something to come alive.
She said, "you ain't you when you're like this,
this ain't you what you done?"
And I said, "That's the point."

You don't know how to let go.
Who said this must be all or nothing?
But I'm still caught below.
And I'll never let you know.

No I can't tell you nothing.


We listen to songs about heartbreak not because we relate to it at that moment, but because we try to break up our currently happy lives by creating a gap of sadness just so to feel human.

When the music stops, insanity fills in the space and wouldn't go away. That's why the music never stops, even if the tune begins to get repetitive and annoying. Please, just let me feel human again.



But I'm addicted to hurting.
And I got these lungs.
And I spent too many late  nights.
Just thinking a hole in the earth.


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