It feels like a thousand pound weight holding your body down in a pool of water barely reaching your chin,
so no matter how badly your neck hurts, you gotta keep your head up to survive.
Its looking up to the sky and seeing how far heaven is away from you right now.
It’s how much you hate now and every second after it.
It’s the feeling after you realize that that one thing you want so passionately is just past your tips
And each time you reach to grab it you get a mouth full of water and you sacrifice drowning.
Depression is the pressure bouncing against your chest, asthmatic, air keeps seeping in
Even though I don’t want to breathe again.
Depression is finally falling asleep and waking up so pissed off for no apparent reason in the morning.
It’s a constant state of morning when the only thing that died is your pride
That’s pushing everyone who loves you as far away from you as humanly possible because I don’t deserve them.
Desert them, before they desert me
It’s quick sand sinking, its feeling alone in a room full of people
It’s.. it’s alright. Yeah, I’m ok. No really, really I’m good.
It’s applying a clown face pretending everything is cool and content when you know you’ll explode in a minute.
Depression is four hydrocodones, two expills , and a poetry show.
I feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world.
It’s the tears that will never fall from your cheek , fear of adding the water I’m already chin deep in.
Yeah, I wanna die, but not that way. I feel like the biggest clown in the smallest circus.
When will my best be good enough anyway?
It’s being afraid of being alone. Your own thoughts in an empty apartment, but not wanting anyone around you.
It’s going to the bathroom in total darkness cause you can’t stand to see your own reflection.
It’s taking five showers a day at least and still not feeling clean.
Depression is the demon at the bottom of the Zoloft bottle.
Depression is the reason I called into work today. And yesterday. And the day before that.
I can get a hundred hours of asleep and still feel tired.
It’s the searching for a clear definition of self.
But the only explanation is crazy. But you wouldn’t call me crazy if you knew how much I hate me.
It’s biting your nails til your fingers bleed and steadily grinding your teeth.
Depression is the reason this poem has no end.
"I wish I could hate you, but I just can’t, you need time alone, and to sort things out in your head. Bury the things from your past, or dig them back up, you need to figure yourself out"
I have been trying to figure myself for the last 23 years. I don’t know who I am, I have broken hearts, and I have broken promises, that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve let my past get to me more than I care to admit, that’s who I am. I sit up at night, and wonder who and what I miss. I wonder if I miss if I miss anyone or anything at all. All I know is I am sick of my past carving out what my future shouldn’t be.
This is perfect