Depression as Addiction

How to explain the difficulty she had in breathing, blinking her eyes, existing? No longer do words carry enough power to describe the constant sinking of her heart. Sinking which is no longer metaphorical, but real. After all, how can her heart sink? Would that not mean giving the heart extraordinary abilities to act in an impossible manner? As the heart begins to stop pumping, she stops shrieking for help. Maybe, the heart has given her all the blood in its tank. After all, the heart is not a super power, infinite tool or her Lord. If broken properly enough, the heart will no longer exist and hence, her cries will be automatically silenced. There is no other way as her voice will only echo as long as her heart keeps beating. After all, he has become accustomed to her voice in all genres- weeping for support, seeping with anger or explosively silent. Explosively silent, stewing a disclosure which he will not believe, anyway.

Never have they understood her fallible personality guided by a vulnerable heart, a deceivable gut. Perhaps, this expectation is far fetched as she, herself, was unable to recognize this uncertain reflection in the mirror. Maybe, if she tried to alter her locks, skin, dress, body type or lifestyle, she would see a glimpse of her tradition. Maybe, she would see a glimpse of her mother in these genetics. Maybe, she would become connected enough to continue existing. But, day after day, she exhausted herself in these efforts to become further estranged, crying wolf every time she thought to have succeeded.

The girl who cried wolf ~