Waiting Room

This little piece of writing I would describe as a creative, comedic look inside a depressed mind. It’s about being in a depressive state but told with a dash of humor…not that depression is funny. It’s not. Depression hurts all over, but sometimes if you look closely into the greyest fog you can see something that makes the side of your mouth twist up a little. Its all a part of who we are. It’s ok to find this funny. Peace to you. 

Waiting Room

My life is a waiting room. It’s where I wait to die.

It’s a room where I wait and do things to pass the time. 

In essence it’s always the same stuff.

I sit and look at my phone. I check my Facebook notifications. I don’t really give a shit about those little red circles with those little fucking numbers, but I have to clear them anyway.

I’m OCD that way. They mean nothing but I have to make them go away.

I stare at my shoes. I got them on sale. I look at my stomach and tell myself I’m going to run that fat off.

I look around. I’m alone.  There are crappy, dog eared magazines on the table that I don’t want to touch.

I look at my phone again. I check emails. I respond to some. I delete many. It makes me feel tired. 

There is a water dispenser but I’m not thirsty. I just stare at it.

The woman behind the counter is a pure bitch. I smile pleasantly at her even though I hate her.

Everyday I smile at people. Everyday I go through the motions. I’m so lovely. I’m so lonely. I smile a lot.

I look at my phone again. I see I have texts. I ignore them. They are mostly from people telling me to do shit.

I need some caffeine. 

I think about fucking. Then I think about how I don’t want to fuck anyone. 

I think about becoming a nun but then I decide that I’m probably not cut out for that line of work.

I think about God and can’t understand why everyone seems to have one except me.

I think about what my higher power could be. I tell myself I am my higher power. Then I think I’m full of shit.

There is a door to the waiting room and I stare at it.

The clock over the door just ticks away the seconds. Second after second after second after second.

The door is always there and I wait for it to open. It will one day.

I look at my phone again.

My life is a waiting room where I wait to die. Second after second after second.

February 14, 2017

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