Depression is not a day with ice cream, watching Bridget Jones’ Diary
Or a breakup, where everything gets smaller with distance
Depression is not a bad day, it cannot be fixed with a good cry
Depression is not all in your head, it hurts in places you didn’t even know had feeling
Depression is hidden in the jokes, the pauses, the drinks, the late nights, the forced smiles – perfectly rehearsed
Depression is background noise, constant lulling, a numb-nothing laying beneath the surface
It’s nightmares, pulsing headaches, shut doors, songs and bad TV on repeat
It’s a loneliness words can’t commit to, it’s following a routine and then breaking down between
Depression is not an option; it’s a sentence, with bars and barricades and “Don’t come too close” signs
Depression is a daily screaming match: get out of bed, say hello, make small talk, cook a meal – maybe
If sad is a state then depression is a whole fucking continent – landlocked and longing for sea
Wake up and you are consumed by everything but also nothing
Just like fainting from pain, the anxiety is gone as the dull, gray cloud comes to follow you
No more fear, just bed and regret and emptiness and ignoring friends
“I don’t feel well” – it’s not a lie, it’s just not the full story
And you don’t want to tell the full story
Because Depression tells you, frankly, they don’t care to hear it
Depression says, You are not worth this life you’re not even living
And instead of inspiring you to do something new, or make new friends
It tells you, You never will. You never can. You never could.
Depression is late night flashbacks, glazed over by turning up the noise
It redefines Netflix and Chill, on the days you can’t bring yourself to do anything else
It’s hating yourself for being this way, but feeling too tired to turn the page
It’s telling yourself, This is your life now, this is how it feels to be alive and to be you
And that’s all, and get over it.
It’s feeling frustrated that no one seems to understand, or even be worried
It’s 2 a.m., turning over in bed. It’s knowing your exit strategy in case it ever gets too bad
It’s calling your mom and dad all the time because alone in your head is the worst place to be
But having nothing to say and nothing to think.
Depression. It is a blank canvas that you can’t write on. It’s an anger you can’t express. It’s a pill you can’t swallow but need.
I guess, right now, Depression, is me.