Depression is a bastard. A real, vicious, and horrible bastard.
And saying mean, hurtful things to someone can only heap piles of depression onto a person's soul. Even if you don't intend to be a hurtful, hateful, selfish, prideful, SOB....I am still real. With a real heart. Real emotions. My soul is a soft one. So very tender. It bleeds easily. It hurts incredibly.
I am doing the best that I can with what I have been handed. Yes, I realize that I am a burden to many. Fuck. To most.
I wish I could just rage quit life sometimes.
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