Depression is just like cancer.
It comes and goes and comes and goes.
And if it's not gone for good.
It finds a different way to come back.
And it's bigger.
And badder.
Only angrier at its host for trying to silence it.
It's a monstrous virus.
And it hates the quiet.
But when it's loud,
It's louder than anything around it.
And if it's back.
It means it's incurable.
Because now it's not only in your blood, it's in your veins.
It's in the tissues creating your skin.
It's every inch of you.
And it wants more.
More of you.
More everything.
More of nothing.
It wants you to become nothing,
It wants you to be nothing.
And it destroys you.
You and your mental image of yourself.
It creeps in the corners of your mind.
Hiding away from the anti-depressant trying to devour it and kill it's course.
Hiding from the happy faces and helpful hands reaching out to you like shinning suns.
Trying to break through all the musk and mold that has grown over your eyes from the moist and cold of the times you've cried yourself to sleep while feeling absolutely nothing.
Empty.
A frozen cold heart.
Depressions ruins you.
And it comes back.
You can do many things to fight back.
In the end you're really only punching your own reflection.
And you get weaker.
You get weak and it gets stronger
And it doesn't go away.
It doesn't go away until you do first.
It doesn't leave until you're gone.
Depression is just like cancer.
It starts unexpectedly,
Unexplained.
Out of nowhere.
It creeps and rips you awake one night while your family rushes you to hospital because of the unexplainable pains in your gut, hands,
feet...
chest.
e m p t y
B
R
O
K en.
And then it goes away with treatments.
And you're confused.
And then it's gone.
But then you're rushed to hospital again one night.
And maybe it happens over and over.
And maybe it happens a million times.
Before your body finally caves in.
Because it's tired of the fight.
It's tired of the medications.
It's tired of the effort.
It's just tired.
And then you fade and fade.
And no longer know.
You're not there anymore
So you can't know.
You won't know.
You won't know depression won.
You won't know it was just you.
You won't know that it was only your mind playing tricks on you that one time.
When you looked in the mirror and saw nothing but fat, or flat. Whichever you had none of.
That you were fooled when you thought he didn't like you because you were too clingy or not pretty enough.
You won't know that it wasn't you.
You won't know you didn't survive this time.
You won't know that you committed suicide.
You won't know anything.
Because you're dead.
You're not there.
You can no longer think for yourself,
You've become truly empty.
So maybe you're not really empty.
But all I'm saying,
Is depression is like cancer.
And it eats you from the inside out.
Now tell me how do I survive?
