I like to think of depression as your body trying to live when all your mind wants to do is die. It's painful really, when you're fighting yourself. Trapped somewhere betweening living and existing, in a mind that's broken with a body that refuses to work until it has the proper brain controlling it. The body is stupid that way. If it wants to live then why does it make itself so heavy when it knows I won't have the willpower to awaken it from it's derived state? Why can't it just do things itself and leave me out of it, just let me live as the ghost that I am, only resurfacing for pain or a smile every once in a short while? Why does it slow my movements like I need to oil it's hinges, making every little thing I have to do a daunting mountain to climb? The body makes the task of living so hard.

If I die, my body is my killer.

Aileen stares at the wall of her room, the timer of her phone that she's reset too many times to count beeping incessantly on her nightstand. She reaches an arm up to turn it off, knowing she should have gotten up an hour ago, but not having it in her to care. Simply telling herself to breathe was hard enough and now she was expected to get out of bed? There was no way.

Aileen turns her head so that she's looking at the wall mere inches away from her nose. She groans then flops her body over, curling into fetal position. Her hands find her toes and she feels the huge blister that's been bugging her for weeks, located on the ball of her foot making it painful to walk. She traces up to her ankles where she can visual the scars from the chigger bites she got back in first grade. She remembers waking up the morning after spending a day playing outside with one of her friends, the hot sun beating down on their backs as they collected rocks and walked barefoot through the dirt. She remembers itching down her back, her stomach, her waistband, her ankles. She told her parents something was wrong, but it wasn't until the end of that day when she stripped herself for a bath that they believed her. Aileen knows those aren't the only scars displayed upon the soft skin on her legs though. She'll never forget how she had to hide all the blood from her parents, her siblings, after cutting herself with a razor in the shower. When you cut yourself in water, blood goes everywhere. The floodgates open. There's still a stain on the shower curtain from that time, Aileen recalls. From which time, she isn't sure. But one of them.

Aileen lets her hands trail up to her stomach where she splays out her fingers, playing with the flesh that rolls beneath her fingers. She runs her index over each lump, not bothering to flex her abs that she knows she has. She would rather sit wallowing over the fact that she had eaten an entire bag of gummy bears the night prior than think about her harsh reality. She would rather be consumed with guilt and self-loathing than have to face the outside world. It was easier. So much easier.

Aileen sighs, closing her eyes again wondering if it was really worth it to get out of bed. Probably not. What was the point? It wasn't like she cared about anything. At least not anything she would have in the near future.

Aileen turned her head sharply, feeling uncomfortable and trapped in the position she was in. She flung her legs out in a spread-eagle position, waiting for the vultures to devour their roadkill. She turned again to look up at the ceiling. She whipped her head to the side. Then the other. Then back again until she was thrashing under her comforter. Her breathing quickened and she knew she would never be free of the iron blanket holding her to the ground even as she threw it off her. She stopped thrashing, breathing labored and heartbeat elevated. She gulped in fresh air, running her fingers through her greasy hair.

Aileen swung her legs off the side of the bed and took a deep breath, preparing herself for another day in hell.

I think the lowest point in my life was when I discovered that I wasn't a person anymore. When I discovered that I wasn't living. I think I'm more of a ghost that someone stuck solid limbs to as a cruel joke, because I sure as hell am not a human.

I'm only the shell of one. 

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter, sorry it's so short! If you liked it please consider leaving a vote/comment!!

I really hope none of you can relate to this chapter, but in this reality, I'm some of you can. Depression is horrible and no one deserves to go through it.

-Sunny <3