Sometimes I forget I wasn’t alive two years ago.
There was someone that looked a little like me, with much shorter hair of course, walking around and going by a different name. They weren’t really alive though; they were an empty shell, spent and tired. I feel bad for them now. Even after we somehow got free of depression, the world still felt subdued, and there was always something missing. I tried filling that hole with books, which helped distract from the pain a little, but didn’t do much to make things better. I also tried filling that hole with religion, which just made everything so, so much worse. Finally, I tried filling it with other people, and that was a giant dumpster fire. Continue reading