Broken skin covering shattered bones and a crushed soul. Depression is devastating. It’s back breaking, relentless, a continuous onslaught. And I was finished. I was done with life. By 10, I tried to commit suicide twice. One by rope, one by water. And I lived well for 9 years after that. Until depression hit me. Broke my jaw, neck, collapsed my lungs and had me grasping for air. And I was stuck. Stuck in a void, in nothingness. I didn’t know myself, my reflections scared me, I felt cold and reserved, joy died within me. And there have been many ups and downs, I only tried to commit suicide one more time, before my 22nd birthday. My toes off the ledge of the train platform, making my way to work. And at that moment I felt that getting hit by the 1 train would be best. Depression has gotten the best of me at every turn. It has been steps ahead. Broke my skin, shattered my bones, and crush my soul. Depression is a bastard who destroys your life and laughs in your face. I have made depression a friend for too long. For too long have I entertained depression in my life. I have given depression too much of myself. But it comes and goes, unannounced. It has its own key, no matter how many times I changed the locks. Depression is a weight in your soul that never drops off. Its an anchor. And when you grow the strength to carry it, it will ease itself. It will rest in your hands, in your chipped fingers as you anxiously think about the day it comes back. It will purr in your fortified weakness and you will find ease. And the day you forget about it, the day you do not give it the slightest attention, it will attack with ferocity. It will change you from the inside out. And no medication can make you raise out of bed. No medication can cure apathy. “No medicine cures what happiness cannot” (Gabriel Garcia Marquez). And its a process. It’s a fucking process to find yourself, to love yourself, to be yourself. When you don’t who you even are.

Depression has wrecked me. And for too long have I let it slide. No longer. I will battle it with every ounce of my being, what is left that is. Tooth and nail, bite marks and scratches. And then when depression clears there’s the fear of mania. But thats a beast that I am better equipped to handle.


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