I’m tryna fucking scream but the words won’t come out.


She’s playing a game. She knows what to do. Kill the beast. It’s simple.

The joystick moves her character. The red button is to kick. The green one is to punch. The blue one, to run.

The game starts. She knows all the controls. She knows what to do.

She walks down the eery, deserted hallway. Her steps echo off of the virtual walls and her hand is steady on the controller. The suspenseful music of the game enters her ears and her brain goes into hyper mode.

She’s got this. She’s prepared. She knows what to do in any situation.

One step ahead. 

Suddenly, the music changes. It picks up it’s pace and the becomes an octave lower. It is sharper, more insistent.

Her heart beats heavily, throwing itself against her ribcage constantly. Her senses heighten. She’s ready.

Some kind of monster jumps out and the screen tells her what to do. It screams at her in bold, shining red letters. It says “kick!”.

She knows what to do. She knows that she must press the red button. It’s simple.

She doesn’t. She presses the blue one. She runs.

Ten steps behind

This is what it feels like to be me. I know what I need to do. I’m good at existing in my own head. I know what I need to do.

I’m good at understanding the theory of perfection. I know that it’s unobtainable so I can’t expect it. I know what I need to do in order to be satisfied.

In theory, I should be happy. I know how. I just need to convince myself to do it. But it feels like I can only successfully exist within the confines of my own skull and I’m stuck.

I’m terrible at real life. I mess up everything. My head is not the same. I make it seem so easy. Just get up and write that. Just run for 20 minutes.

Watch that episode at this time. Sleep for eight hours. Eat that, not that. You have the motivation too.

So why am I nine steps behind?

I’m drowing in my own thoughts. I’m left alone too long. Maybe that’s why I love company. It distracts me from myself.

But even then, I often somehow sneak my way back into my bubbling brain and stew on the very thoughts that ruin me.

They’re the only things that are wrong with me. My life is practically perfect. I am clever. And I often am sure of it. I have a perfect family and school. Everything is fine.

And yet here I am trailing nine steps behind this model of happiness.

All nine steps consist of overcoming the horror of thought. The feeling of ‘depressed’.

To remove it from me, will putting it in words help? If I even can…

I don’t think it will help if no one reads it. But I don’t want anyone to know.

I don’t want anyone to have this kind of power over me. I don’t want anyone to see what I feel. To hear what I think. They may as well strip off my clothes and cut through my skin.

It doesn’t matter. I can survive. I just need myself. Those nine steps are coated in fear. They must be overcome.

But once I do, I know what will happen.

Two steps ahead

And after that I’ll fall back in. Into this cursed vortex of terror and fear. And I’ll fall even deeper. Hope will be swallowed because I trap myself in my own mind.

Twenty steps behind


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