Small talk

I engage in small talk yet I don’t care for it. I pretend to be interested. But these things aren’t important.

I don’t care for gossip. I’m sure your weekend was the same as the weekend before; getting shit-faced and doing something embarrassing. Oh and of course promising never to get drunk again, *roll my eyes*.

What’s interesting is you never ask how I feel. I’ve been depressed for over two years yet you’re too scared to talk about it. It’s weird. Everyday I miss work you act like I’m out shopping. No. I’m stuck in bed, building up the strength I have to face the next day.

I used to be considered a good friend. Depression has made me distance myself from my friends. I’m more independent. I care more about myself than their social activities or guys they’re scoring.

The troubled world bothers me more if I’m honest. Everything seems meaningless in comparison. The world is fucked up and my friends are complaining about when to put on fake tan, what they should eat for lunch or how much money they spent on alcohol and/or clothes at the weekend. Do they realises how shallow they are? No, they don’t. The more I socialise with them, the more I yearn to be apart from them.

I just don’t care.

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