Explaining My Depression

Scars eventually heal.

Be my saving grace.

As you stare at yourself in the mirror, you could pick out every single flaw, because that’s the only thing others focus on. 

You wonder if everybody hates you because you weren’t created perfectly. 

You wonder if they hate you because you’re not “model thin.”

You wonder if they hate you because you’re quiet and out of the way.

It’s sad how society never focuses on what’s real, what’s on the inside.

My hands shook as I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. I see my clear and truthful reflection; holding back every tear. 

“Why am I doing this?” I ask myself.   

I listen to the thunder crashing and I’m standing there, shaking. It reminded me of myself.

Loud, but impossible to be seen. 

You can cry for hours in a day, screaming and reaching out for help as much as you want, but the scary reality check is that the pain remains unnoticed.

You lay on the cold floor, curled up; shuddering every time you hear the thunder roar and lightning blare through the dark curtains. 

You continue to think about yourself and about your shitty life. 

Everyone knows that old saying “life is like a box of chocolates,” but if that’s true.. why isn’t life sweet and savoring? Instead, my life is bitter. 

Sometimes I feel like my time is up, like this earth doesn’t need my presence anymore. You start wondering if you even belong. 

When you have adapted to the feeling of being so alone and being in a complete war with yourself, every day, the happiness cuts short.

It’s like you are walking on a frozen river. You can fall through at any second. Not knowing what to do, completely unaware of what could happen next. You could sink to the bottomless pit of blackness, you could freeze, or you could have someone save you. Someone to pull you out of this hell. 

That’s what I’m waiting for. I’m impatiently waiting for someone to be my saving grace and rescue me from all this anger and sadness that’s built up inside and end it for good. 

All of it. 

I’m too afraid of pulling myself out of depression. 

I feel like I’m stuck in my loneliness and worthlessness forever. 

I should be happy, but I am sad. 

I should be living, but inside I am dying. 

Glass can easily be shattered, but so can any heart. Mend me. Fix me from all the pain, all of my heartaches, all of my tears and all of my fears. Fix me until I am “me” again. The old me. 

The happy me. 

Now Reading
Explaining My Depression