Depression is like this storm within you. Nonstop rain pouring in your system. Slowly rising, flooding you, trapping you. You feel the deluge creeping up inside. There's no drainage system built for dark thoughts, lightning flashbacks and thunderous numbness. Gradually, it collapses your lungs and you suffocate, scattering for air. There's no way out, no life saver in the midst.
You're drowning from the inside. There's no way out.
You're losing hope.
There's no way out.
You're losing fight.
There's no way out.
You're losing breath.
There's no way out.
You're losing.
There's no way out.
Yet, people stare at you wondering why you don't do anything. "Get up, just think positive. What are you crying about?"
You say nothing. Because you're underwater banging on glass of your eyeballs, hoping they see you. Hoping they see your suffering. Hoping they toss out that life saver that they hold in their hands.
But you can't ask for help from those with near-sighted eyes. For they see what they focus on and everything else is blurred.
They're stuck with that vision because they choose to.
Too many ones in this world with their narrow minded vision.
"Get over it, you're fine. Stop sleeping all day" is all they say.
But you just stare. There's no way for you to speak. You can't scream for help because you're saving your last breath.
You're crying underwater.
There's no way out.
You're choking.
There's no way out.
The weights of self doubt drag you to the bottom.
There's no way out.
You look at the ones with their narrow sighted vision. Shattering the glass of your eyes so they can see you for the first time.
Maybe there's a way out.
But they only insult you.
There's no way out.
They chose to ignore you.
There's no way out.
So you close your eyes and stop the fight. The shattered glass scratch your eyelid as you close them. The physical pain doesn't even come close to the one inside. The blood drips down your face like tears you couldn't cry.
They are too far to see it.
There's no way out.
They're too far away.
You just lost your last way out.
YOU ARE READING
We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human
PoetryWhat goes on inside the mentally stricken mind?