This is a poem about my personal struggle with depression and anxiety and other mental disorders. If you want to find a way to categorize it as fanfiction, I could probably name characters it could represent because while every case of depression is different, it boils down to the base line of emotional torture.
This could be a potential trigger for those with mental illness. There is talk of depression and anxiety and implications of suicidal thoughts. Please read at your own risk.
Smile
Smile
Smile
What else can you do?
Depression is the monster under my bed,
The beast living in my head.
Depression is the knife that will make sure I wind up dead.
Depression is a collection of words that go unsaid.
Depression is the reason I can't breathe.
It's slowly suffocating me.
Depression is destroying everything I want to be.
And if there's a light at the end of this tunnel, it is too far away to see.
Depression started with a dark room and the covers over my head.
It started with not wanting to get out of bed.
And then, it became voices screaming in my head.
And when those voice begin speaking and screeching, I play dead
Smile
Smile
Smile
What else can you do?
Anxiety is the waterfall streaming down my face
Anxiety is a poison only I can taste
When I'm with my friends, and anxiety makes me leave to get some space
But I don't want space!
I want friends and family and company, but anxiety is in charge of this place,
And if anxiety wants me to have space, I have to give myself some space.
I understand if I've lost you somewhere along the way.
Depression and anxiety are complicated things, and when it comes to them, I cannot find the right words to say
In this journey, I only see night, and in my mind, there is no day
I tell you I am fine, but the truth is... I am not okay
I can't do this on my own.
I feel so alone.
And I know you may think I'm being dramatic, but this is the most pain I have ever known.
Even if it is just in my mind, I could still wind up as nothing but a pile of bones.
Smile
Smile
Smile
What else can you do?
Mom, Dad, cousin, aunt, friend!
Someone, pull me out of the deep end.
I can swim, but I cannot swim and defend
Myself from the monster trying to drown me in the deep end
Of a pool of sadness and loneliness, where you can see me and not pretend
That you could be my godsend.
The sadness is so severe, I get light headed
Just thinking about the war raging in my head.
I am not fighting overseas, but that does not mean I cannot be called a soldier that may end up dead
At the end of my battle with the monsters in my head and in my room and under my bed.
I'm sorry if I do not reply when you call or text me.
I'm sorry if my work is less than satisfactory.
But when you are a slave to the demon in your head, you need to worry about breaking free.
Anything else will have to wait, and at the end of my war, I will give you an apology
For not being what you want me to be.
Smile
Smile
Smile
What else can you do?
I am not lazy; I am simply tired of running in a race
That I did not sign up to be in, and I cannot keep pace
With the other runners as we chase
After the victory at the end of the race.
I will lose, and I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment, a disgrace.
I fall behind, and eventually, I will fall.
I tried to answer the call
Of life, but I was hearing it through a thick brick wall.
I am fighting a losing battle, and as several good soldiers unfortunately do, I will fall
And I will not get back up because the storm will continue to rage, and I will be caught under the rain fall.
I give my apology to all
Smile
Smile
Smile
What else can you do?
Please, do not judge people for having a mental illness; they did not choose this, just like people with cancer didn't choose to have cancer. Also, when a person dies of cancer, we blame the cancer; when a person commits suicide, do not blame them for losing a fight with depression.
I am trying to get better, and I know this poem could've been very triggering, but I needed to get my emotions out. I also wanted to bring awareness to mental illness and depression and anxiety. Mental illness is not a sign of weakness; fighting depression is probably the hardest thing I have ever done.
I hope someone out there could relate to the poem. Thank you for reading.