Please stop hurting me.  I promise I’ll be good.

It’s what I scream at random moments throughout the day.  I feel like a Tourette’s sufferer.  I’ve dealt with it for some time, so I’ve learned to disguise it, but not completely, not wholly.  People still notice.  And it just won’t stop.  I just want it to stop.

I don’t want to be sick anymore.  Is that so much to ask: to be able to do the things that most people do without the problems that most people don’t have?  I mean, really: how many people end a perfectly calm Saturday of watching movies with the sense that their head and heart are in a vacuum, that their life is shit, and that death would be mercy?  If there were so many, wouldn’t movies be all about that?  Wouldn’t every movie talk about the struggle of a depressive instead of this comedic series of misunderstanding bullshit?!

I’m getting angry about being sick all the time.  Why can’t I just have a good day?  God-fucking-damn it!  I’m going to scream.

And then nothing will be better.  Nothing is ever better.  God.  The hopelessness.  It’s consuming.

Please.  Just some relief.  Someone.  Something.  The meds only dull the pain.  I can still feel it there.  Always.  Always.