The faucet that has needed fixing for weeks carries a constant reminder of your to do list adding up.
The texts from those who care about you asking if you’re okay.
How do you answer that?
Sometimes you’re great and sometimes you’re fighting the urge to scream at the top of your lungs.
It feels like I’m drowning.
Stress,worry,instsability are the only words I know.
Therapy doesn’t always help.
Meds don’t always help.
Praying that this will be the last time you think of ending your life, doesn’t always help.
I don’t have to do this on my own, but I lose my voice every time I’m about to reach for someone’s hand.
Terrified when I’m feeling “better” because I know that could change at any moment.
Losing myself through this process is my biggest regret.
The trauma wasn’t my fault, but I am the one dealing with the fallout.
The fallout that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
All consuming, scary as fuck.
Am I okay? They keep asking.
How do I answer a question that I never know the answer to?
Drip. Drip… Drip…
The facet still needs fixed, and so do I.
Just two words but they have the ability to rip through my already fragmented heart.
It’s what I have lived and breathed for quite some time.
A habit that should be so easy to break, but yet here I am still encompassed in it.
Don’t use me, that’s not what I want. Words can be deceiving; my eyes tell a different story.
I feel lost and not in control of myself, my body.
So used to being the puppet to a narcissistic puppeteer.
I want to break free of the imaginary chains that are on my soul.
I am slowly working towards the freedom that I crave.
Freedom to be me, to have my own thoughts, actions, feelings.
The scars of my past have a way of showing their faces when I do not want them to.
It’s a battle that I will win, in the moment it might not seem that way.
Erasing your demons isn’t easy, especially when they are intangible.
I am stronger than I perceive myself to be.
I don’t want to be used; I want to be equal.
Love does not seek out to harm or degrade you, I have forgotten that more than once.
I owe it to myself to know my worth.
Kindness is what I deserve.
Do not use me, love, and respect me.
An empty bottle of antidepressants that you just finished.
Another full bottle already waiting to take its place.
You take them every day to feel normal.
Or maybe to feel nothing.
The sadness that is so drowning is finally subdued.
You can finally go about your life as if nothing is wrong.
The meds giving you the ability to smile without forcing it.
But isn’t it still fake?
Depression doesn’t define who you are, but you have a tendency to let people know that you have it.
Hoping that your actions may be understood.
It doesn’t seem fair that you have this disease.
Everyone has demons, it would be nice if yours could be kept away for good.
Depression doesn’t define who you are.
The constant therapy sessions, canceled plans, loss of motivation, make it hard to believe that.
It’s comforting to know that there are others fighting to be in control.
Feeling lost is almost a familiar feeling.
Nightmares, panic attacks, negative, crippling, thoughts.
Feeling completely alone even though you are surrounded by those who care.
Depression doesn’t define you, it just makes it difficult to be you.