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Words: 321

The hardest thing about depression is that it is addictive. It begins to feel uncomfortable not to be depressed. You feel guilty for feeling happy.

I feel guilty.

That's all I can say. I feel guilty. It's like this constant nagging at the back of my mind, tugging me back by spiderwebs. Trying to break me down on memory lane again. Trying to pull me back to that long, endless darkness. There's a ledge I've spent years climbing, dropping every now and then but I've always managed to continue just a little farther. Just a couple feet more. Up and up for years and years and years. Stressful years because I never know if there will be a loose rock. I never know if I'll grip something that's unstable, unsafe. There have been times when I know I've gripped a loose rock but I honestly couldn't care less. I'm at the top of the ravine now, right at the cliff again just as I had been nine, maybe ten years ago.

And this spiderweb is trying to drag me back down.

It's reminding me of how much pain other people are going through and how greedy I am for enjoying the happiness. And in that, I feel guilty. I feel like I should be able to share some of this warm emotion but... I can't.

It's trapped inside me, right in my heart—that's where all emotion is kept, isn't it?

I'm falling back again and I'm afraid because I'm happy now. I don't want anyone to take that away from me. I don't want to be dragged back down but I haven't felt this good in so long, it's nice... and warm... a warmth that nobody else can have... a warmth kept it myself. A warmth I don't deserve...

A warmth that will soon fade in a week or two.

A warmth that's always temporary.