The Deepest Waves

The deepest waves of my depression overtake me not bit by bit, but all at once. I am losing the drive that once thrived within me to flush my emotions onto paper. My fingers are heavy, the keys are resistant, and the light is dim. My soul grows weary and I find myself dimming the light of my screen to reduce the harsh tension building behind my eyes.

The twirling of the fan above me which once produced melodic waves of cool air now leaves me shaking beneath the covers of my own despair. I have no worry nor care for interests of any sort, nor do I wish to promote my own works on any website, forum, or board.

The deepest waves of my depression overtake me not bit by bit, but all at once. I once dreamt of being a famous (or at least successful) writer but my hope is fading and my will is depleting. My anxiety spikes with each knock on the door and every bark outside my window. I no longer hear whispers, I hear whimpers. I no longer feel pleasure, I feel pain.

I lack the overall motivation needed to take medicine. Did you know this was a thing? The fact that depression strips its victims of the motivation required for this simple yet ultimately necessary act is cruel and unforgiving.

The deepest waves of my depression overtake me not bit by bit, but all at once. I feel undeserving of my depressed state not because I see myself as being higher on the morality spectrum, but because when I see what others suffer through, my difficulties feel pale.

I regret the decisions I’ve made throughout my life. I regret the things I’ve said, the drugs I’ve taken, the mistakes I’ve made.

The deepest waves of my depression overtake me not bit by bit, but all at once.