My mind is a mirror, a reflection known only to me.  A place where i lose my grip on reality, and absurdity reigns within.

My mind is a mirror, a reflection known only to me. A place where i lose my grip on reality, and absurdity reigns within.

“Shh depression doesn’t exist”
Those were the same words I repeated to myself
As I stood gasping for breath,
trying to fight my masked enemy
but the more I tried
the tighter my chest became
closing up against itself.
I felt helpless.

“Depression is said to occur due to an imbalance of chemicals”
I repeated to myself
as the knots in my stomach began to tighten
smaller patterns each time
bringing tears to my eyes
As I allowed myself to dwell on the fact that theory was not reality
and that those who wrote the textbooks hadn’t lived the life that I lived

I was sat in a room full of people
yet I felt alone
My face did not betray the reality of what I was currently experiencing
I usually didn’t cry
but my heart felt like it was drenched in sorrow
perpetual damnation
Again the thought crossed my mind, that:
Academics could sit down all day and write but they would never experience the way it felt to desire death whilst praying for life at the same time

Praying for life because my sun had been overwhelmed by darkness
No sight of hope in myself or those whom I called friends
They would never understand how it felt to deal with such a menacing pursuer
How it felt when the ambiance and crowd had dispersed and all that remained was the small nagging voice inside my head prodding at my tender heart and attacking every aspect of my life
And so it’s funny when people think I’m strong but on the inside I’m crumbling
I’m used to being the rock they lean on, but where’s my support?

And it easier said than done when people say “tell me about it, just talk”
IT’S HARD TO SPEAK
How can I say “I’m suffering”, when it’s not something we talk about?
Strong black independent woman that I am
The strong black independent man
We are strong and black and bold
Depression does not exist
We say out loud, whilst we warily eye the clock
waiting to go home and assume foetus position on our beds as we weep
Our loud cries trying to silence those voices

Those tiny consistent voices
My personal nemesis
It makes me despise the philosophical concept of
“I think therefore I am”
Is my existence really necessary?
Why must I think?
The very thing that asserts my humanity destroys me completely…
My thoughts.

I want to stand on the highest mountain and scream and regain my being
I want to go back to how things were before depression overcame me
I want to overcome it
I’m tired
I’m tired of being tired
I want my freedom
“FREE ME!”
I shout, silently whispering the words “please” after

Hoping, praying that my demons take it easy with me
Praying that my shouting didn’t offend them and even if it did
hoping that my guardian angel is finally bold enough to fight on my behalf…
As I regain consciousness I hear the words,
“Why are you here?”
My voice breaking I looked up at her and said
“I tried to overcome depression
I guess I was given a second chance”
She smiled at me and repeated the same words I heard Annalise Keating say on TV last night
Last night when I thought it was too late to puke up the concoction

“I think about it a lot. Killing myself.
I have ever since I was a child.
A lot of times, I think the world would be a much better place without me in it.
But I don’t do it.
You’re a better person than I am.
And if I don’t deserve to die, then you definitely don’t.
I’m sorry you feel alone in your pain, but so do I.
So does everybody. That’s life.”

And you know what?
“That’s life”
Sounds like a better phrase to me than
“depression doesn’t exist”
It’s hard to treat what you refuse to acknowledge
Some days are good
Some days are okay
Some days could be better
Each day I like to think that I grow stronger
And at the end of the day
It’s only ever a bad day not a bad life.

@SummerKnight99 and co-written with a good friend

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