Space and time. What is it all really? Just some random amount of measurement that allows the human mind to grasp the thought that we actually have control over this sick world we live in?

With time, well what we consider the random gaps to measure how long we live "time", comes basic human feeling.

Happiness, sadness, anger, arousal, and the ever faithful apathy.

With time, in my case, comes depression.

But Amanda, you seem so happy and care free! How could someone like you be upset? After all, you have a loving and supportive boyfriend, friends whom love you dearly, and a family that could never abandon you.

Ha! I laugh at the people who think all this. You know what my life is? It's one large fucking lie. To myself. To the people around me. Even to the voices and demons that only seem to thrive in my head.

It seems, as most people would state, Hemengway included, that depression is slow at first. It's barely noticeable, it's just random spits of utter apathy and lack of all energy/feeling what so ever. You think that it's normal, after all, puberty can do this kinda shit to anyone. It just comes with the age. Yet, as all things eventually become, it's soon a rapid snow ball, endlessly makeing its' journy down the mountan. It just gets worse and worse, until you are to the point where sleep no longer exists. You seem to get to such a state of fatuge that even sleeping takes to much energy. So you lay in bed, for days sometimes at a time, unable to blink, move your eyes to stare at something becides the white walls.

It's a trap. A fucking trap that never lets its' grip go. It just gets tighter and tighter. Slowly choaking what little bit of human is left until everything is gone.

A depressed person, as myself, most of the time is hallow. Lifeless really, so they are zombies. The true definetion of zombie. This is what my life has become.

I am the living dead, my resting place an old twin sized matress or laying down becide Matt, feeling nothing.

Faking being horny just to see if at some point I could feel something during sex. Is all the human out of me? Am I so despret to fill the lack of everything that I was with anything that would seem to fit?

Is this all planned out by some grater being? Did I do somehting so horrid in a past life, that this current body of me is suffering?

Could that explain my constant need to see blood running down someone, even my own, neck? Could that be the reason why I do not fear death, but rather life itself? Could it be the reason that I need to know that there is some chance that I still have some bit of a human-like soul left in me?

Then again, all that I have just wrote, really is nothing. Is it original? Do I have any originality, does anyone? Or are we all the same organic matter, created by some random events that just so happened to work, we all destened to live a life to try and make things better for the next generation then eventually die, our bodies rotting, become soil for the next set of meaningless life? Or does life really matter? Is there truly a purpose.