Depression was a friend that came into my life around ten..
At first, I didn’t understand him at all or why sometimes I felt like nothing at all..
I tried to justify his existence in my head with thoughts like:
‘Perhaps it’s just me…after all, no one talks about this on TV’..
‘Kids already call me crazy for just acting free, so maybe really this is just me’…
‘You’re young, and you don’t know what’s going on…like all the adults say— “It’s just the hormones.”
Depression (though he had no formal name at the time) set up residence as I justified my reasons for his stay.
Four years passed, and to my dismay, he followed me to high school
I felt like I had no say
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Fine. Just tired,” I’d reply behind glassy eyes.
“Are you sure?”
What would I even say?
No, I’m not okay?
I don’t know what’s going on?
Please help me?
Who would help me?
I couldn’t take the shame
Too exhausted to deal with life anyway
Not sleeping at all
I’m good at acting
No one can read between the lines
I became tired
Bursting into tears I wailed to my mother
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
Fifteen years later, he still pays visits though…
I got help and I know when to tell him to leave
At twenty-five I’ve found it’s still exhausting to justify his existence to make him seem…
What’s the word?
Real to others.
Others don’t have the luxury of speaking up
They may be
Are we listening?