Depression is so comforting. The feeling of nothing, all the time. Its familiar. Empty headed and heavy chested. The selfish thoughts of stopping your medication just to make you lay in bed all day. Quitting therapy because no one can change how you feel. Tired of being tired but that’s all you know. Its quite in your head so you don’t hear anything when its loud. Always calm but lonely but in the good way. Not expecting yourself to shower or eat. Being skinny, always being more attractive the sadder you are. Deciding you can “take the hit” of an F on every essay and worksheet. Feeling helpless but not wanting to get better. Staring at the wall in the darkness of your room, so tired. You don’t want to do anything. Not even sleep. It physically hurts to sit and do nothing, but it hurts more to do anything. You don’t want anyone’s help. Feeling powerful but weak, untouchable but insecure. Staying quite when it hurts to talk. The cut of the blade, remaining straight faced or sobbing. Making the pattern your own, a pretty drawing of yours on the body you call your canvas. It feels good every time. The burn of showers on your arms and legs. How uncomfortable it is to lay on your sides or even wear clothes. How they scar up and remain red. How they look to you like pretty tattoos, the stem of flowers running across your arms. Keeping your bandages secured with tape. The bandages rubbing against your long sleeves. Its you’re secret, its like a game. Dissociating when being yelled at for your laziness. Ignoring your friends and family’s frustration, worries, pleads, yells. Always sounding like you’re making excuses, you are choosing to be sad, to be miserable. But as the days blend together and your memories fade, your most selfish looking actions or lack thereof, It feels so good.