I sat at the table my eyes focused on the magnet-covered refrigerator listening to the clock click from behind me. I always hated that sound. More than that I have hated the feeling swimming in my stomach; the feeling of fear and guilt. The two are best friends and friends with me. I have tried in the past to be a better person, clean my act up, be a person I could be proud of. Nothing but failure comes associated with anything I touch. Depression lives inside of me; inside us all just I wrap it inside my soul and embrace it. The house is empty of psychical and other emotional presences. Outside at some location I didn't pay attention when given is a party. A party of people full of laughter and fun, I used to enjoy that. Actually since I have been honest this far along I might as well stay on the path of truth. I hate parties, the mingling, the forced conversation, and pretending I give a damn about new babies and other new news in people's lives. I fear people knowing that I cry at other things than just made for TV chick flicks. I fear the ones I loved no longer loving me. More than that I fear I don't love them as much as I should. And that creates the guilt. I am full of feelings of misdirection and doubt. The feeling I will never be better than what other people have thought me to be and want me to be. So I sit here starring at pictures held by child made magnets of my broken family and cry.