Depression

A painted white face, in a black night, during a thunderstorm, tapping at your bedroom window while the clock glows three in the morning.

Under the impression that you'd just unlock the latch and invite it in for a glass of wine.

Under the impression that you're unaware of its ability to slip inside ether way.

Now, if you've never laid in bed begging yourself to just get up and put on clothes, yet instead finding yourself justifying going back to sleep again... you don't know what it's like.

If you've never taken more than three showers a day convinced that the soap and the scorching hot water could scrub away the pain in which swims as one with the blood under your skin or the act of brushing your teeth at least five times in one day could possibly wash out the words you didn't ever brave to say, you don't know what it's like.

If you've never sat in front of the mirror, thinking that just maybe the longer you stare the more your face may change... and the less you'll look like him... you probably don't know what it's like.

If you've never found yourself screaming at the only person who would never fucking hurt you, because you can't figure out why the fuck you're so sad, hitting them out of anger brewing from nowhere inside of you, you just couldn't know what it is like.

If you've never listened to your subconscious trying to talk you into being normal and telling you that you are completely irrational, yet still feeling the same complete irrational way afterwards, you probably wouldn't know what it's like.

If you've never completely lost control of your breathing, or lost control of your body due to unknown reasons accompanying a full-blown anxiety attack... how could you know what it's like?

Depression isn't just being sad, 'cause I'm sure you know what that's like.

Depression isn't a big black cloud that hangs over you for everyone to see or for everyone to recognize, "oh, OK, she has depression." But it sure does feel that way.

Depression doesn't wear all black and play sad music like you'd think.

Depression finds you in your deepest sleep and zip-ties you to your bed hiding all things you could ever use to cut ties, but lets you give up and call off life.

Depression masks behind makeup in disguise as black circles under your two beautifully drained green eyes.

Depression smuggles itself into that bottle of pills you've caught yourself debating on opening and ensures that it's set out right by the bathroom sink, right where you'll see.

Depression seeps into your brain and tells you all the wrong things: you are not worth it; you are not smart; you are not kind; you are not beautiful.

Depression.

Depression suppresses itself into your walls, lurking unnoticed until out of nowhere, after three beautiful months, in the exact moment you stopped thinking it was going to find you again; jumps on your back while holding a duffle bag full of bricks and whips you like a horse screaming at you to keep going, knowing fairly well that you simply cannot just keep going... Laughing in your ear, hissing nasty things, disguised once again as the shirt on your back making you look like a stupid, incompetent human being.

Because depression, yes, depression, is a not a monster that you can see... But my bones can.

It's not a feeling that you can just simply feel nor justify... But my bones somehow do.

Depression is an incomprehensible word unimaginably contained within you somehow; a capable theft, a sharp pain in the very pit of your soul, that you could not just "understand"... But my bones sure do.