[Writing Exercise] Facade

So many voices. God, all that ambient noise. It’s too much for you handle sometimes.

You’re a failure.

You suck.

All that negativity can’t be good for you. Maybe you should go talk to someone.

Isn’t that the advice? Talk to somebody? Seek help. Oh, how about this one: pray.

Leave it in God’s hands.

Trust God!

He has a purpose for you.

Unwelcome advice. It doesn’t do anything, but piss you off. You’ve talked so much at this point, it doesn’t seem to help anymore. All of your friends have long since abandoned you.

If you’re not going to do anything to change your situation, then stop bitching about it.

Yeah, because that helps, right? That’s what you need to hear when you’re swirling away in the dark abyss that is depression.

You have to choose to be happy.

Like it’s that easy. Do they even understand? You can’t just shut it off. It doesn’t work like that. You spent your formative years being told such vile things, all while being told it was for the best.

Violence was the word of the day for your entire childhood. Constantly hiding became exhausting. Hide your hatred, your fear, your self. You did it for so long that it became your resting state. You never open up to anyone, now. At least not completely. A few people know a tidbit or two about you. No one knows the whole you.

You hate who you are; hate what you have become, but you don’t know any other to be. You spend every second of everyday questioning yourself.

So jaded, so cynical, you can’t even trust the people you supposedly love. The side you show them is fake, too.

You’d love to go to the theatre. You hate being in public.

Yeah, answer that call so your friend can tell you about her new hair style. You couldn’t care less, you just want to hang up.

Pet that dog in your lap. You just want to shove him off.

Why can’t you just be left alone? Doesn’t everyone see that you can’t do it?

Well, they do, they just think you’re an asshole. They talk about you behind your back, you just know it. In their minds, you should have grown past this. Depression is for teenagers, not working adults. Anyone you do let it in, listens for awhile then rattles off the same bullshit advice.

See a therapist.

Therapy never helped you before.

You have to want to fix it.

Your brain doesn’t work that way.

Get on medication.

You’ve tried that, too. You hated it. Everything felt fake.

Fuck, then just kill yourself! You obviously like being this way.

You don’t, though. You hate it. You want to find enjoyment in your long forgotten hobbies, again. You want to answer that phone call. You want to go on that shopping spree. All the things that you see other people do, you want to do them too.

If only you could shut the voices up.