A/N-- this is a story that I've been writing for a couple years now. It's morphed into what it is today, and without a doubt it will keep changing as I change myself. But this is the form it's in now. The prologue to this is Shawn's story, but it's not imperative that you read that one first (but it will help a bit, especially with character descriptions and backround)

This story was inspired by many things. First of all, music. Second, the concerts I live for. That's truly the only place I'm 100 percent myself. Third of all, my amazing friend. this is something she will never read or know about, but it's for her anyway. she's kept me here longer than she knows, and I'll never be able to repay her for it. She is living proof that love kicks everything else's ass.

To Write Love On Her Arms is an organization that is extremely close to my heart for countless reasons. Check them out, they might be able to help you too, in ways you'd never expect.

On a lighter note, I'm a super friendly person, please review, comment or drop me a message about anything. If you review my stories I'll go review yours as a courtesy.


Depression—mental state characterized by a pessimistic sense of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity

in english, please.

Depression is a hole. Deep, wide, shallow, filled with water, it's whatever you want.

Are you okay?

Yeah I'm fine (not really.)

Seriously, what's up?

Nothing, I'm fine! (NO I'M NOT.)

Staring off into space gives time to think. No, I'm not bored, just thinking.

About everything. Love, hope, faith, life, and my lack of them. How long has it been since I laughed?

Over-sensitivity takes over.

You can't keep messing up like this.

I know, I'm trying (harder than you think). (But I just don't care anymore).

Look how pretty she is, I can't compete with that. I can't even hold my head up to look people in the eye.

Eyes judge, they can see through everything. Keep your eyes averted, no one else needs to know that you aren't happy. Keep it to yourself.

Smiling feels so awkward. Too forced, they'll see right through it. High pitched laughter, that's not my normal laugh. Too forced, everything's too forced. But they stop staring at you; they leave you alone for a bit. It's nice to have them off my back.

Pretending is exhausting.

Are you okay?

I'm alright (not really)

What's wrong?

Nothing, stop asking me that (Everything, stop asking me that.)

A/N--- this was just an intercalary chapter, the real story takes place next. I think i'm going to add more of these in between the actual chapters just because i think it adds another dimension to the story. (and also i'm reading grapes of wrath again, it reminded me how genius intercalary chapters can be....)