Depression

I’m depressed.

And when I say that I’m depressed, what I really mean is that my fleeting thoughts of wanting to die have now extended their stay. I want to stray so far from the life that I have created but too many people insist on keeping tabs. Sometimes I want to scream in the silence that my soul was never up for grabs.

Just go away.

I’m so tired of sleeping entire days away, like they were never really mine to live anyway. I was once bursting at the seams and couldn’t contain my dreams. Now my dreams dream of me and what we used to be, what it was like when I was the real me.

I’m physically ill from the fight. Depression owns me in hindsight.

Friends inquire my whereabouts and I do the same. If only they knew the burdens that I carry with this name. If I told them the truth, I never leave my bed. It is the only place where I feel so free and so trapped. I get so low that I believe if I was drowning, no extended helping hands, just familiar faces that would’ve clapped.