Shattered

The problem I seem to face with antidepressants is that they strain me from my ability to cry. I have so much that I just want to let out. They won't let me let it out. Stability straining on my back, pulling me back up. Making me feel like the world isn't crashing down around me. As all my friends drift away, I eat in the library, and I sit blandly next to them as they do their best to pretend I'm not even there. All things I've done to myself, the stability keeps me standing on this tightrope that I could fall off of any moment because I'm no trained professional. No, not a professional at all. Don't let your coping mechanisms run off on other people, make them feel bad, you don't want that so you cover your arms and hide your thighs. And as the scabs prickle off of your skin, and your scars fade a little more day by day, you sit and wait and wish. The stability is a calming factor, the stability provides you a new fate, one far different from the fate you were destined before. Maybe I wanted the fate that the bright girl had once before. For I am only a shell of her, a fragment is left down in the deepest parts of my heart and I want to wait for it to rebuild, knowing it will never. It will never ever turn whole again. Once you break a porcelain doll, it will never be the same as it was. No one wants to buy me now, so I sit on the shelf, waiting for someone to find the beauty in my cracked arms and legs, knowing that no one ever will. I have to find that reason in my own life to stop the cracks from continuing until I shatter entirely.