Malfunction on half a muffin and spiked diet coke is how I function yeah, in my melodramatic suicidal teenage haze they say. I want to survive and I don't. I have given up getting better. My grandfather, I have recently learned, had depression. The grumpy old man wasn't missed by my mother when he finally passed; I, however, gave myself the excuse to open the first bottle.
So it's in my genes, my very being, to live in this tortured way. It is not getting better. I am a defect on the assembly line, a kink in our DNA. This is not a problem, this is a condition. An incurable disease.