Depression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear
Trapped in darkness,
Like a tiny box closing in, choking me.
They call it nothing,
But we few sufferers call it depression,
A black gaping hole in our lives,
They call it attention seeking, we call it life
Depression is an ocean,
unpredictable and unwavering.
Its depths are deep.
Its Highs are shallow.
Depression is the sky,
amazing and determined.
Its depths reach our soul.
Its highs touch the heavens.
Depression is the sun,
Mysterious and huge.
Its depths are unimaginable.
Its Highs wish to swallow the earth.
Depression is...me...is it you?