My father told me for what seemed like the billionth time,
that he was tired of me spending my life in my room,
because I didn't clean a single dish,
or keep my bedroom floor visible.
But what he doesn't know,
is that I am just too busy.
Too busy wondering why I just HAD to wake up,
why I had to take another breath
and see another day.
Just why I can't get out of bed and find one,
one thing to take this pain away.
because these pills,
these pills sure as fuck don't help me.
But, I can't.
I, I am stuck.
See, living with depression,
It is this endless pit that you can always fall,
fall deeper than you can climb to get out of it.
Depression is the rain on your parade,
the sand stuck in your shoe,
and eventually, it can even be the death of you.
So dad,
the dishes are still in the sink,
and watch your step when you enter my room.
I, I just didn't have the time.
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