I'm starting to think that is just a word.
It holds no meaning to me.
Recovery.
It mocks me. It suggests that there was ever a time where I did not feel like this.
I can't remember a time when my bed wasn't my place to escape the world and was just for sleeping at night, or when a blade wasn't my best friend, and when I didn't need pills to make me feel even somewhat alive.
Recovery.
It's funny.
There are times where my demons are much calmer than usual.
But I know it is nothing to be proud of. I know they're still there.
Hiding.
Waiting.
For the perfect time to reappear.
Now if only they would stay away.
Maybe one day, recovery won't just be a word to me.
YOU ARE READING
Depression is a Funny Thing
PoetryIt tears you apart from the inside out then laughs in your face when you can't pick yourself back up. (Note: I do not own the cover photo. Credit to whomever the owner is.)
