My heart is beating to the sound of a head banging on a desk out of depression. A depression so deep, not love nor peace could scrape out the bad and filter it with the new. As time goes on there’s a boulder on my back and it’s giving me a heart attack. “I can’t do this anymore,” I told myself. But saying things doesn’t make them true. As stress, sadness, sleep deprivation and anxiety pile up to make one stack of loneliness, and the thing is you can’t knock it over as stories are open like book covers. Being blown by wind seemed as little disturbance for them, but big turbulence for me. Everyone is telling me to be myself, but when I’m in a trillion different pieces which I do I be? Which me do I confide in? Which me do I choose to follow? If they are diamonds then I’m the dirt that got scraped of into a deep dark hole of frustration and sadness. A world where not even the bravest travel. When you feel unworthy then you feel like you belong somewhere else, in a world where everyone can be happy and think win-win, when we all know that this is a world that we have created to hide the real issues of our lives. If they are stars, then I am in the fabric in which they sit. A fabric is full of bullet wounds and holes deeper than the deepest trench caused by anxiety from the people and the stinging acid thrown in my face. It isn’t only my face. Because if they are royalty, then I’m the hopeless servant that has lost her dreams. Words swoop past my ears as fast as marathon runners. I’m like a train that never left the station due to an issue with engine failure. If they’re knights, then I’m the blood on their swords. I’m crying and I can taste the salt.