Give me a blade, hand me the knife.
I wish there was a way to explain the compulsion to cut. But u can’t. Anyone who has ever self harmed can tell you that 90% of the time cutting isn’t about suicide.
To me, I feel as if I have a ball of black hate, anger and fear inside of me and I must vent it from my being. A self exorcism almost.
On a day to day basis I feel like my depression is my shadow. It changes throughout the day but is always there. It attaches itself to me via an elastic band. When I have my low times, my shadow strangles me. It prevents me from breathing and weighs me down. It enters my lungs and heart and becomes the black ball inside.
My emotions forego all reason and logic and fast track to the conclusion no one asked for.
I become paranoid, guilty, angry, upset and all of this leaves me confused.
My shadow is so heavy that I cannot lift myself up. I simply cling to my bed or curl into a ball and wish for the tears or anger to take me. Anything is better than the numbing confusion.
Depression is a disease. Not laziness. One cannot simply snap out of it.
I sometimes wish I had a broken leg instead. You know how long your sentence is and that in time you will be strong again. Your cast can be decorated and people make adjustments for you in life.
But depression can only be understood by others who know.
Maybe one day I’ll be free from this shadow. Or maybe I should move closer to the sun so my shadow can barely be seen.
In the meantime it follows my every move and mocks me with it’s shear presence.