Depression

it's a horrible issue. One that can't be fixed most of the time. Toss some pills at it and hope for the best. Doesn't work, at least not anymore. I'm fine when I'm up and going most of the time, but getting out of bed is horrible. When I'm home alone, I sit in the dark and the silence and weep. I weep not so much for what could have been as for what is. Who would have ever wished this life on themselves. One where you're surrounded by so much anger and hatred it's difficult to breathe. I weep for my children who know no better. I am holding on by a thread with one hand and with my other I have very sharp scissors. I see my kids and I shut the blades. They smile and I melt, they laugh and I smile, they hug me and I breathe easier.

I need some help in a life of sorrow. I'm too good at masking my pain for my own good. If I reach out my hand, will there be anyone there to grab it?

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