My brain doesn’t know when to stop lying to me. I’ve never been a good liar. And I guess my brain isn’t either.
When I get depressed, it starts out mild:
You are alone. And I think, well, that’s true.
You keep fucking everything up. And I think, maybe not everything. But it is hard to argue with that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.
You’ll never find someone. And I think, well, I’m not sure if that’s true. But I’ve proven to be terrible at predicting my own future.
You’re ugly and awful and stupid. And I think, I may be unattractive (and awful). But despite having done my share of stupid things, I am not stupid.
You should kill yourself. And sometimes I think I should, and sometimes I think I shouldn’t.
You’re unhappy. And I think, I am unhappy right now in this moment. Maybe it’s because you are telling me awful things, brain.
You are always going to feel this way. And I think, now you’ve gone too far, brain. I have an excellent memory. And I KNOW I won’t always feel this way. Because I don’t always feel this way. You are a liar. And you can’t trust anything a liar says. You’ve probably been lying about everything. I don’t know why you do that, brain. But you’ve been caught. It’s time to stop now.
And it does for a little while. Until the next time. But luckily, my brain doesn’t know when to quit. It always takes things too far.