Light becomes a narrow pathway

There was two hours were normal thoughts resumed. Confidence flowed through like water from a fountain. I was complete again and perfectly content with my faults. From highs so exquisite come lows that torture the soul. I sat on Johnson field today, after my soccer game had concluded, with reality as my only companion. My phone was as I left it, empty of all contact. I knew no one in particular. A familiar face or two, but there were no friends here. Everyone seemed so happy, and I envied that. Their ability to deal, or at least fake, with life in general. I don't have that. The smallest things tend to cause a panic deep within myself. A panic so limiting that I become a shell of the person most know me as.
This shell is cramped, and only my doubts fit in here with me. Doubts that fester and disease my mind the longer I am contained in here. Whenever I emerge, I bear the scars of this experience. Scabs that form over my soul and remind me of past. These scabs never fully heal, there is always a remnant that remains as a reminder. Worst of all, the shell stinks of my own hatred. Putrid and choking, I cannot breathe in here. My hatred for myself is so strong that it over powers logic, love and sympathy. I scoff at friend's attempts to ease my burden. I never accept what they say as truth, as I feel I know my own imperfections better than they do.
I'm right, I do. That doesn't mean others can't help. An undertone of pride always is contained in my hatred. Pride that does not allow me to seek help and solace from others. I fall back into the black pit that is my shell and live here. Days, weeks and months pass by as I peek out during opportune moments. Life is so beautiful, I want a taste. The allowance of a field trip into the outside is always carefully controlled, by myself. Life free from the devastating lows of my depression never last more than a couple months, before I find myself back in the mire. Struggling to move as I sink deep. Soon my breath is labored and I begin to think of the most plausible way of death. The storm is passing for now, I leave my shell. I hope this time it is for good.