seasonal depression.

"Shy people notice everything, but never get noticed themselves"

I think things & I desire to share them with you, but my mind seems to negate these feelings simply because I assume that they've been said before.

I want to tell you things, but there seems to be some sort of sickness in my head which retains me from doing so because I can't put them into words that sound attractive in my head.

I want to crack my skull, much like an egg, so that I can spill all my thoughts onto a piece of paper, canvas, shoe, wall, sky, shirt, faces, heads, fingers, hands, arms, wagons, buses, cars, hearts & many inanimate objects because every time I start to write it seems like every pen I touch is filled with disappearing ink.

I feel anger, but never enough to justify a RE-ACTION (only well though critical actions).

I feel love, but not in the sense of a relationship & I've been a few years overdue.

but much like everyone else my insecurities multiply before my very eyes

allowing for the creation of fallacies, which slowly begin to fill my head.

as their numbers increase I begin to believe in them.

my confidence, or lack there of...has up & gone.

I can't find any interest in anything.

the things I once loved so dearly & held so close to my heart have turned their back on me.

I no longer feel hate.

It used to be that I couldn't understand anything I hated.

The pieces just would not fit despite all the strength I added.

The puzzle was not complete.

Then I realized that there are things which will either directly or indirectly affect me & I will have no control over them whatsoever. I couldn't hate what I had no control over.

Then I realized that there were opinions and thoughts that I surrounded myself with on a daily basis which I didn't feel to comfortable dressing in, yet were as real as the sun. Again, I couldn't hate what I had no control over.

Then I realized that what is in ME isn't in SHE, or HE, or HIM or HER, or THEY & definitely not THEM.

& these things would continue to function properly.

Generating and instilling life in their shells.

Which IS and ALWAYS WILL BE completely different from those that fill mine, yet still retain a sense of similarity. Again, I would learn that these are THINGS are THINGS which I had NO CONTROL over.

I'm not gonna beat a dead horse here.

I rarely find joy in repetition, but depression doesn't seem to get it.

Am I standing up?

Would you care to talk?

maybe share a thought or exchange some vowels?

Should i wear my seatbelt or catch a ride with death?

pay no mind to the warning signs, this is a cold call.