-- There are times when a bottle of bourbon doesn't do it. But then you remember you have a pack of smokes stashed in your drawer, and go for that instead. Everyone is worried. You tell them to fuck off and they get increasingly agitated at your abnormal behavior. "What's gotten into you?" The only response you can bother to give is a middle finger. -- There are times when counting sheep doesn't do it. When a glass of milk only makes your breath stink, when sleeping pills are a nuisance and you consider banging your head against a wall to put you into a comatose state. No one understands you. -- There are times when simple motivation cards don't help. There is no way to be more "socially acceptable". There is no way to get the teacher to pick someone else to explain how that math equation works or what king fucked-up-and-fucked-that did to bring his nation into economic disaster. And then you get increasingly depressed, because when people in real life don't understand, when counsellors dismiss it as a phase, the virtual world accepts you with open arms and offers you digital milk and cookies when your own parents ignore your needs for their own. And that makes you even sadder. -- There are times when you hold your head in your hands, when you are deprived of genuine emotion. Times when you slump against the wall and try to cry, but remind yourself there is no use, and that you have no tears to shed. Nothing left. You've taken pills and you've mutilated the surface of your skin to satisfy your self-loathing and hatred, but in the end you find it all to be a shitty excuse to hate yourself even more, and that this cycle that revolves around you despising yourself will never, ever end. --