I heard this on the radio. Mike Brown was a kid who didn’t want to play football, even though he had the body for it. When asked why, he told his friends that he didn’t want to hit anybody.
This is the child that they’re going to paint as a thug.
please take care of yourself. talk to a friend. watch your favorite movie. blast your music. write in your journal. eat a yummy snack. go outside. cuddle your pet. and know that it’s ok to feel lonely but know that you are never truly alone. inbox me if you need to talk
Depression is not sadness cloaked in an oversized gray hooded sweatshirt. It’s not salty stains on an adolescent cheek. It isn’t hollow sunken purple under eyes or a thousand prickled drops of blood staining a pale wrist.
It’s a smile that fades just a second too soon. A laugh that sounds just a pitch too shrill. It’s nights spent so empty we lay on dirty sheets, wrapped in tattered blankets, soaked in worry because we don’t deserve to be here.
It’s a hollow lie that implants deep within our bellies and grows through our bloodstream, tangles in our organs, entwined with our souls.
It eats us from the inside, chipping away slowly at any concrete foundation we may have put down, and when the cracks start to show and people tell us to “smile, will ya!” We unzip our chests and raw putrid flesh comes seeping out, but they can’t see. They can’t see. They can’t see.
When we die every night in our dreams and wake with unreserved peace, we wonder…is this what’s meant for me?