There was a day I thought my depression wasn't that bad.
And it wouldn't get worse.
There was a time I thought that depression wouldn't do to me what it has done to other people.
And now it has.
I thought I would never starve.
And now I do, as I have to constantly remind myself to eat as I find it hard to remember sometimes.
My body doesn't know how to activate it's hunger mode anymore.
It no longer works on the familiar autopilot which I am accustomed to.
I have to drive it manually.
Although I'm deprived of sleep.
I used to think I would never be the person who harms herself.
Or write about suicide.
And beauty in the way the crimson liquid of life trails down her arms.
I used to think depression wouldn't change me.
And now it has.
So what happens now if I never make it?
Because it just so happens that I once used to believe I would.
And if I believed that so long ago too,
Who's to say it won't fail me as well.
