When one thinks of the word “Hope” they tend to think: It’s a driving force in the lives of every human being. Well, to some extent, that’s fairly true. But for some people, (I being one of them) hope has been driven out of their souls by thick and suffocating despair squeezing every last ounce of happiness out of their bodies much like a black hole envelops light. It’s sickening really, the fact that you may never be happy again. The simple thought of it makes most shudder, But me personally, I haven’t been happy in a year and a half. I have already been swallowed by my own vices and honestly, I’ve ceased caring whether or not I’ll even make it out.

One night ruined every agonizing moment of my teenage life up to this very moment. Because of it’s nature, I feel as though I’m not capable of explaining myself. My reasoning for this will not be explained later on as I’m my own being. A typical response to this would simply be: “But you’re just a teenager, you have no reason to be sad” my reasoning for this being the fact that I’m very much unlike the average teenager.

Since I don’t like fore-playing my way through conversations, I’ll cut to the chase, If you don’t believe in depression, then stop reading as this will probably ruin your day. I hope for the best for you. As for me, I don’t expect a whole lot out of this life. Never planned on it. But then again, I didn’t plan on a LOT of things happening. People come and go, friends become enemies, relations die. Change is unpredictable in life. One thing I didn’t expect to happen, was for a SINGLE night to ruin my entire teenage life, but much like I said previously, things NEVER go exactly as planned. One thing goes wrong and you’ll witness your entire life crash around you. The fear of the consequence of failure sets in and you finally realize that everything you’ve worked SO hard for has all been in vain.

The depression is actually nice because at least you feel something. Pain is so much more validating than oceans of utter apathy, crushing any emotion under mountains of indifference. The feeling is very much unlike happiness, sadness or even love in that matter. All those emotions require a specific capacity of empathy. A word which has long lost meaning to me. Empathy is what keeps a person from letting go and losing themselves in the eternal pits of despair and a self-helplessness that we’ve all felt at some point. It’s a terrifying place and I’ve just been sitting at the bottom of that seemingly endless abyss, staring up at the world above wondering what it’s like.

At one point, I was suicidal, but my depression has evolved into something so much more black and brutal. It’s complete and utter apathy. I’ve simply stopped caring. Whether I live or not, whether the world ends, whether…. Everything has stopped mattering to me. I haven’t cared about anything in particular in the past several months. I long to feel again but even that has been suppressed by my apathy. So when people approach me and ask: “You don’t care enough to be depressed” My response has always been the same: “Depression is better than what I’m experiencing. I wish to be depressed. Hell, I’d even be fine with being suicidal if it meant I could feel again.” My entire life up until that night, I felt like I was participating in life just like everybody else. Now, I’m just a spectator, miles away looking at people enjoy themselves and it makes me bitter. Bitterness, resentment, hate, and apathy are my only emotions left. Soon, even they’ll fade away. Ashes in the never ending cycle of life. Seemingly nothing compared to the mountains of despair I struggle to climb everyday. Only uphill battles and downward spiraling mental and emotional health. Exponentially growing in severity until it can’t even support it’s own colossal weight.

I know that this will eventually kill me, I know that I’m doing it to myself. And honestly, I don’t even care. Because in the end, nothing will even matter. I believe in apathy because it’s the only logical way to think of it. When your time on this planet ends, all of your problems will cease to exist. I think that in the process of realizing this, I ended up killing my spirit along with any faint sliver of hope I had left. Hope, Such a peculiar word. It’s been so long (Seemingly eternity) since I’ve felt such a thing. After reading this far you may think: Is he okay? My response to this is: “It truly doesn’t matter. It never has and it probably never will” I’ve taken up writing down my thoughts as you can clearly tell from the mood I’ve shown,

I’m full of dark, depressing thoughts. I’m not even afflicted by anger anymore. Nothing even remotely bothers me. I could say I’m simply a husk of a human being. I’m not alive, that would require me to enjoy life. Simply put, I don’t care for life, I don’t care for death. I’m simply existing because I somehow manage to respire. So what is hope to me? A word that simply does not exist because I’m an inhospitable host just waiting in utter apathy until the moment he stops existing.


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