Content warning
This story may contain sensitive material or discuss topics that some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised. The views and opinions expressed in this story are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Vocal.
Face of Depression.
The sorrow is different for different people.
Depression was not always staying in all day.
Depression was not always drenching my pillow with tears at night.
Depression was not always isolating me.
Depression was not always cancelling plans.
It looked like I had painted my face rainbow but felt like black blood was being pumped into my heart inside.
It felt like a hollow vessel inside out.
It was showing no signs to the outside world.
It was wanting to make myself unalive but I feared the physical pain.
It was sharing smiles but not remembering when my soul was happy the last time.
It was saving the saddest songs on my playlists.
It was feeling like I don’t deserve anything and anyone, anymore.
It was when I stopped living and started existing.
About the Creator
Risha Almeida
Just a normal college-going girl who loves writing poems and stories. I appreciate each and every one who takes the time to read my writings. THANK YOU!!
Keep reading
More stories from Risha Almeida and writers in Poets and other communities.
Diary Entry
I remember on a trip abroad I got a cute little notebook with a frozen-themed cover. I was 10 years old and a grade 5 student. I kept thinking about what to do with it. Soon I came across some videos on “Reading my old journals” on YouTube. I decided to try it once and it turned out to be one of my best decisions ever. I am sure even the reader won't ever regret it if start now.
By Risha Almeidaabout a month ago in Journal
An Adventure Through Hell
Emaciated arms covered by the tiniest bit of flesh capture me, holding me close to its decaying form. Gnarled and thin fingers pull my dark hair. Screams of anguish surround me, somehow reverberating from the empty chasm. I punch and watch as bits of grey flesh disintegrate into dust. Scratching at the caverns where its eyes should have been, I could only hope for an end to this hell. The sounds of torment continued, assaulting my ears with one tremendous roar.
By Isabella Rosea day ago in Horror
Comments
Risha Almeida is not accepting comments at the moment
Want to show your support? Send them a one-off tip.