Depression Monologue

I lay dying in a pool of my own blood.

It’s warm. Even so, I can feel the embrace of death approaching. It’s cold claws clutching at my heart. My sense of touch fades, along with the sound of sirens in the distance. Oh, is that an ambulance approaching? I’m afraid I have some bad news for them. Even though I’m not a doctor, I know I’m dying. Why you ask?

Well, I was stabbed at least thirty times with a switchblade. Even if the knife missed all of my organs, I’ve lost too much blood to survive. Ah, they’re approaching me. I can see their eyes dim as they realize I’m a lost cause. I see them turn their heads towards the fellow next to me. Their mouths gape open as they look at the state of his face. I understand their shock, after all, I’m the one who did it to him. I pressed my thumbs deep into his eyes as he stabbed me. It was dumb, I know, but I didn’t want to run anymore.
I was starving, jobless, and living on the streets. Was I a cripple? Addicted to drugs? No. None of that. It was just another run of the mill case of chronic depression. You see, my depression manifested itself as apathy. Severe apathy. I wasn’t a psychopath, but I was considered a sociopath. I had no empathy. That isn’t the worst of it though. For a normal person, when they accomplish something, it’s usually accompanied by happiness, or a sense of accomplishment. For me, I got none of that. Was I jealous? No. You see, with apathy, there is no happiness, but there isn’t sadness either. It was just…