Yay! Another mildly depressing poem!

Wallowing in my apathy
trying to be overly happy
to compensate.
But it doesn't matter how loud I talk,
how many times I laugh,
how many huge I give,
nothing works, and
nothing will.
Usually
the ache of my knee will make me angry,
or sad, or depressed,
but right now I don't even really
feel the pain,
even though I complain
about it constantly.
I think that my friends are starting to worry,
and one part of me
wants to tell them
about my pain and suffering,
but the other five, or six
or eight
want me to battle this on my own.
They have their own worries,
their hopes and dreams
that I have no part in.
They could live without me.
Sometimes I wonder how
I ended up like this.
I used to be so happy,
yet watching, as one by one,
my friends would fall into
a deep pit
of self-loathing,
and depression,
and I would always,
always,
try to help them out,
help them stand on their feet,
help them be happy again.
Where is that
unextinguishable fire?
That raging energy, that bright light
that is moulded into
one teenage girl?
Who will help me out,
of this hole that I've dug?