Plastic is Poisen

[Black_Forest]

People don't understand. They don't understand that depression feels as though we just a recyclable plastic bottle. I'm made and filled with water, emotions, happiness, and then I am just cast out to the world. I sit on a shelf waiting for anyone to choose me. I watch as people come and go, glancing at me, noticing me, ignoring me.

Then when that one person shows up, they take me and pay for me, as if I were just something that could be traded away, like a piece in their own games.

Who, exactly, buys the water bottles? People that need the water, the happiness. But not always. So the thirsty and the full take the water bottles, and slowly drain me from the happiness inside me. I watch as it all pours out, and yet, despite the pain this gives me. I let it happen. Because this is my purpose.

And when the thieves of my joy are satisfied, and I lay empty, they toss me. I am once again traded for money. Then they fill me with the water and joy from somewhere else, but whose happiness is this, I do not know as they force me to be 'happy' again. Even if I don't want to be. Whose joy did they steal? Just to continue my purpose and suffering? Well... nothing I can do about that.

So once again, I am thrown on the shelf, waiting, waiting for the next person to buy my happiness for themselves. This continued, never stopping, never taking a break. There were people that chugged my hope and joy as fast as possible. Some only took small sips, draining me as slowly and painfully as possible. There was even a person that poured my heart straight into the dirt, for their own amusement.

But after all that, I was content, because I was helping them, and they were letting me help. Not only that, but although they returned me to be filled back up, just to repeat this torturous cycle, it was better than me ending up in landfill. With all the others that were taken out of this cycle. I want to leave. But we all know how the plastic kills. So I must choose; live an eternity of pain and artificial, or leave and poison all around me. That is why, I am still content, I just need to last it out.

'Water is joy; but bottles are poison. Which sacrifice must be made?'