D E P R

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will rip my skin apart.”

The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived.

 For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life. You don’t want to see anyone. You lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washing over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is my own fault. You have done something wrong, something so huge you can’t even see it, something that’s drowning me. You think you’re inadequate and stupid, without worth. You might as well be dead.

Everything takes so much energy. People around you don’t understand, you’re doing the best you can responsibilities overwhelm, expectations you can’t meet weigh heavily. Sorrow fills you until there is no room for anything else. Strength to fight, to find joy and love, slowly seeps from your soul. Endless days without hope loom before you, enveloping you in darkness. 

People think depression is sadness. People think depression is crying. People think depression is dressing in black. But people are wrong. Depression is the constant feeling of being numb. Being numb to emotions, being numb to lie. You wake up in the morning just to go back to bed again. Days aren’t really days; they are just annoying obstacles that need to be faced. And how do you face them? Through medication, through drinking, through smoking, through drugs, through cutting. When you’re depressed, you grasp on to anything that can get through the day. That’s what depression is, not sadness or tears, it’s the overwhelming sense of numbness and the desire for anything that can help you make it from one day to the next.

Lost in space? Yes.

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