Misconception

I want to break something.
I want to smash my cracked iPhone screen into my bedroom window as if my faith and mental stability were colliding.
I wish to never again feel jealousy at a funeral.
My mother bought me everything I wanted during the worst stages of my life and I thought that could help me sustain these spurts of happiness.
Now, I don't even remember the last time I was truly happy.
My smile is constructed out of legos that I've consistently lost pieces to.
I've been hiding my tribulations as best I could to promote good mental health.
I don't even know my demon's eye color.
My friends ask me why do I randomly hold my face with one hand even when I'm driving but they don't understand this is me trying to keep my mask from falling off.
Some people don't understand that when you're mentally unstable, everything is a trigger for depression.
And education is a hateful neighbor of mine who placed a welcome mat on my doorstep for depression.
Depression is feeling a feeling where you may not exactly know what you're feeling but it's making u feel a bad feeling.
Depression comes in the form of glasses that makes me see other people as bee hives.
Depression transforms you into a day old pigeon falling from a dogwood tree still in its egg and you have to both hatch and learn to fly before you hit the ground.
Depression is a nightclub dancer that pulls me onto the dance floor and holds me hostage, dancing around my frozen body until I finally decide to dance with her but even then she still does not allow me to leave the dance floor.
I can't fight the urge to dance much longer.
I can't fight back.
I can't see a winning scenario and I've convinced myself that I will fall trying to take a stand so I wait.
I wait.
I wait for my blessing.
I wait for God.
I wait for my Faith's backup generators to kick in.
I wait for more tribulations to pile on my shoulders and as soon as I gain enough strength to lift myself back to my feet, my ceiling would have adapted to my sunken body.
It's funny how life gave me lemons but at the same time made me allergic to them.
I spend my days giving those lemons away no matter how much it breaks out my hands.
I wish I could keep them.
Why did God make me allergic to lemons?
He made this rocky road inevitable from the start.
I think I'll just try my hand with them anyway.
But now my face is breaking out and the corners of my mouth are split open.
I have shortness of breath and I’ve lost all feeling in my body.
My temperature is high but my spirit is low.
And no matter what it does to me I continue to give away these fucking lemons because I am convinced that everyone else needs them more than I do.
I want to break something.
And sit it's fragments alongside my faith and mental stability like a collection of jigsaw puzzles.
I've been trying to put the pieces back together for a while now.
Failing to realize that I never had all of the pieces to begin with.
I guess when you've been in the darkness for so long, you then start to prefer it.
What a way to live, or rather, what a way to die.