My depression is a transformer.
It changes its appearance seven days out of the week,
And to speak
as if it is something easy to explain
the life right out of me.
One day, it is a small wave.
The next, it is a tsunami
rushing towards me that I feel will destroy everything in its path.
And I was asked,
“why don’t you ever want to leave your bed?”
Because I am alive, but every ounce of my being feels dead.
I don’t want to go to the beach anymore.
I am tired of places that remind me of sand castles
and things that can be washed away.
Things, that only last for a moment.
You don’t know what it’s like
To not even believe that your own shadow thinks you are worth following.
The only time I feel alive is when I write
And each time pen touches paper
I feel a cynical tap on my shoulder
Whispering, “this is not home”.
Broken, is all I know how to be.
Anxiety, is what makes it hard to breathe.
Like being stuck in a see-through gas chamber with your mask staring at you from the other side.
may be holding me back.
But being happy is not my choice.
Depression is a boy
telling the woman who brought him into this world that he wants to be taken out of it.
To the way that I sound when I say
That is me,
crying for help as my pride wipes my tears away
before anyone can see them.
And I miss my freedom.
The ability to walk without the weight of my sins forcing me to my knees
As I pray for the strength to stand up
And be tall again.
I miss being tall.
To see things from a higher point of view
There are days,
Days that my body aches from nothing at all.
Aches, as if being torn down by a wrecking ball
With no idea if it can ever be built the same way gain.
I am sorry,
For having a grim
face in a room full of laughter.
Things don’t seem as funny when you feel lonely surrounded people who claim they love you,
By Tevin J. Reese