moodyashell's Journal

depression - imagine a suprise party every morning as soon as you get close to consciousness, if indeed you opt for consciousness that day. self medicating and isolating and sleeping 15 hours a day is another fun option. so many choices! so there you are with the fucking balloons, confetti, people yelling, the whole 9 hits you like a freight train in an instant. but wait, whose birthday is it? is it suicidal thoughts'? hoplessness'?  or a theme based on a basic desire that a plane will crash on your house and kill you so you dont have to go to work? well thats part of the suprise, isnt it? theres refreshments, llooooottts of booze and drugs if i have anything to say about it, and it doesnt even matter what they are as long as they numb you from the eyebrows down, and maybe one of those 6 foot heros weaved out of all the things you want to do, but cant quite get your brain and body to coordinate long enough to do it.  all the napkins and plates are printed in the same decorative moniker: better to be dead better to be dead..hell you can get just about get anything on a mylar balloon.  how about 'failure' and the ever popular 'everyone is talking about what an asshole you are but pretending to like you to your face.'  these are popular for sweet 16's especially. now some parties involve huge binges of shitty food that takes 2 months to digest and cause your bowels to make sounds that drown out the tv, or maybe its just a quiet evening of pulling whatever sharp objects you have laying around across your wrist to see what being alive feels like. here comes the entertainment, first theres a lot of weeping and pretending not to be weeping, and the desperate, manic volume of the jokes flowing out of your mouth that if played backwards would say "i'm on fire with a pain you have never ever read about...please hug me and tell me one day i can take happiness for granted like everybody else."  crank that music so loud that it almost, aaalllmmoooost silences the voices in the background. people are mingling...you catch snipets of conversation.....you're a loser...youre fat and ugly....you should stop complaining....and then theres the inevitable sex with a stranger that you always think will be something other than what it is, a biological function that leaves you feel even worse...and you didnt know there could BE any worse, but there you go. hey remember the most painful moments of your life? enjoy them flashing flashing flashing on giant video screens that enables a picture in picture, where you can experience all the original desperations and sorrows over and over again mixed with images of blood and tears and fantasies about flying off the ledge of a building or sleeping forever. dont forget the goodie bag at the end of the day....theres meds that kill your sex drive and whiper false hopes into your heart, theres an rage just beneath the surface and its boiling fills your mind with the smell of burning plastic, and also a big helping of shame, secrets, excuses, lies, explainations, backtracking, slipping and falling because for some reason you know that you cant ever ever show anyone your goodie bag, and its probably best not to mention the party at all. not everyone is invited, you see. and the weirdest part is that while surrounded by people and and song and dance, you know in every cell of your body that you are alone, permenently sealed in plastic wrap so that nothing and no one gets in or out. oh theres the alarm....who's birthday is it today?