The Black Diary is a symbolic segment that is created to tell the secret story of your struggle. This segment is for those brave-hearts fighting their silent battles every day & night. Let the world know your battle because you’re not alone. Few in this world of billions are ready to reach out to help you, or you can just finally let out those negative vibes out.



“I feel like I’m stuck in a war within myself… no, that sounds too cliché. Let’s say I’m stuck in an argument. Am I okay? Am I happy, even? Is this world really beautiful? Is this life worth living? One day I tell myself that through my ups and downs, the good and the bad, over all I am happy and this world is good. There’s flowers, animals, sunsets, books, fruit… how can it not be? But other days I can barely pull myself out of bed, and feel like I’m drowning. I go from feeling depressed, to angry, to nothing at all. I take out these emotions on the people I care about at times, and it makes me sick to my stomach. And as hard as I try I can’t seem to suck joy out of anything. None of the things that used to make me happy seem to make me happy anymore. Not art, or writing, or going on hikes. I try to force myself to do them anyways, desperate to convince myself that they’re bringing me joy. But I just feel so hopeless and frustrated. In that moment, telling myself I’ve ever felt happy seems like a downright life. I feel like everything I create is utter garbage, so why create at all? The thought of any of my friends reading this, or looking at the crappy art I make, brings me shame just to think about it. I feel so worthless… So I go to my room, lie on my bed, whip out my phone, and let my mind rot.

I may seem so damn pessimistic at this point. It may seem like I’m not trying at all to others, like I’m content just pitying myself and being miserable about it. But during the times I truly am happy (I think? They’re few and far) I don’t need to justify it to anyone. That would make it less sincere. I keep this happiness to myself. But when I’m sad, and loathing myself, that filter dissolves to those I trust. I can’t help blather on and on about how ugly and worthless I am, how sad I feel on the inside… I understand it might seem like it’s just a mindset I keep, and with enough effort and positive thinking, I can just “get over it” and life a life worth living.

But it’s not as simple as that. You aren’t inside of my head, you don’t know the truths. You’re not in my head when I’m trying my very best to convince myself that I’m beautiful and love myself. When I’m thinking of every possible thing that I have to be greatful for. During my peak, when after hours or arguing with that dreary voice in my head, I reach a victory. As permanent as I feel that little ray of light is, it always dissolves so soon… and I sink back into the abyss. And trying to convince anyone how hard I fought to get that peak, even temporarily, is like shouting into the void. So why even bother?

I know I need help. Something in my head just isn’t working. I feel so broken… admitting that hurts me on the inside. I want to convince myself that I’m okay, but after years and years of trying and no one noticing, I’m just about close to giving up… I can’t deny that there’s moments when life just feels right. Like when I’m cuddling with my boy friend, and I’m surrounded with love and light. Or playing bored games with my family, where we’re eating snacks and laughing. Or listening to music that I feel echoing in my rib cages, taking shelter in my soul. But they’re getting scarcer and scarcer and it scares me. I don’t want them to keep slowly dwindling and dwindling away. But the thought of opening up to a stranger, possibly putting medicine in my body that might make everything worse… it terrifies me. And I can’t help but feel like I’m not trying hard enough, like I’m just making a big deal out of nothing. Like if I just kept positive I wouldn’t be in this mess, like this is my own fault. Maybe I should give it another shot…

I almost feel like me trying to keep myself happy is like a toddler trying to blow up a balloon. They put their little mouth on the spout, and blow and blow as hard as they can. It might inflate a little for a second, but their little mouth isn’t strong enough to blow more than a little puff. The second they take their mouth off, the air spews out, and they have no idea why. They keep puffing and puffing and puffing, until they’re blue in the face, finally realizing that no matter how hard they try, the balloon won’t blow up. They start to wonder, why is it so easy for the big kids to blow up this balloon, but impossible for me? I try and try to make myself happy, only getting tiny spurts, and I’m at the point where I’m putting down the balloon. But I foolishly keep on trying, in the hope that one day I’ll go strong enough to finish this difficult task.”



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