I noticed every detail about people. I hate it! It's my curse, the consequence of my chosen solitude. Still, I wish it was different... that I was different... I don't make any effort to changes things, other than wishing an escape out of this self-confined depression. But, I do wish it was different...

My own incapacity to change things, the long-standing wishes, and their unachievement, are the sole cause of my depression. In turn, my depression fuels its own incapacity. I am a complicated mind whose heart beats to the rhythm of my self-sustainable depression, which is a perfectly balanced system fueled by itself.

I am because I am. I wish because I can't reach. I need to wish because I need hope. And I hope because I can't live without it. And, in the end, I live hopelessly, longing for something that isn't there, that will never be there. I know it, my mind knows it. But whereas I have chosen to accept, the mind hasn't. And that is why I am constantly pushed to the ground by my own mind fighting against me to pull myself up and fight for myself. But, whereas it hasn't given up, I have...

Tags: prose