The fear of wanting you know it's true/the fever of wanting all of you

And she is not good or bad
Oh, but she wants all she could have
Your soul’s familiar call
This is it… I am and
It’s not like me

[Claire Voyant – not like me]

My silence is equal to my lack of passion. I am adrift in a sea of “I don’t care” and “I’m too tired” and “It doesn’t matter” – but it does matter and I do care, I’m just too tired and pained to admit it or do anything about it.

Depression is embarrassing. It’s humiliating to admit that I don’t have the drive to finish anything, that all I do seems to be sit around on my ass and think of nothing, or dream wistfully about the things I’d like to be accomplishing, if only I had the passion, the energy, the stamina, the will.

And people look at me and see a “healthy” person, which I can’t blame them for – and they wonder why I can’t just shake this off and get to doing… obviously it should be that easy. Just make yourself motivate, Xi.

It isn’t. I wish it was.

BEIJING, CHINA - FEBRUARY 2:   A man views dre...
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I went to NYC recently. For most of the time I was there, I was energized, more than I have been in ages. I came home full of hope, ideas, thoughts.
I know that living here takes away some of that zest for life… no sidewalks, no bustling creative energies, no ever-changing wall of humanity to observe. I barely even have friends here. And of course, I’ve been becoming more isolated again, but that’s a side effect of the depression, too, that need to cut myself off from everything. It hurts me to be open like that – physically hurts. That stupid Cymbalta commercial about depression hurting? I really wish it wasn’t true. I get an ache inside, like someone was slowly squeezing my heart and lungs. My bones ache. I feel weak and ineffective.

What’s worse is that I hate hate hate talking about it, admitting it, telling people just what’s going on and how I feel. Like I said, it’s embarrassing… and I know that so many people discount these feelings. I understand it, and I wish I didn’t sound so whiny and weak. But I guess the only other options would be to either fake that everything is fine, or stop talking again. And I am tired of not communicating. I know that hurts my friends and family, too… and there’s enough hurt going on already without that.

And you might tell me the truth
And I might be reminded of you
In everything I see and that I feel
You might be…

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I write, as openly as possible, about my experiences with life, love, creativity, depression and not-depression. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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