Depression-
or what others like to rename
as laziness.
I say I'm at my lowest,
I say it over and over,
different days, different breaths,
but all you choose to hear
is that I'm not doing enough.
I'm screaming in pain-
or at least I think I am-
but you don't acknowledge it,
you don't seem to care,
so I start to wonder
if my screams
never made a sound at all.
I'm exhausted-
body, mind, soul-
so I sleep again
as if I haven't already slept
half the day away.
Even thinking about getting up
feels like lifting something heavy
with trembling hands,
and still I do it,
because your solution
is always the same:
go outside,
go distract yourself,
go do anything
but feel this.
But that's not what I need.
And you never listen
when I say that.
So I start saying I'm fine,
I'm dealing with it-
even though I'm not,
even though drowning
in a quiet apartment
where my thoughts scream louder
than anything I could say out loud.
I hear the blood rushing through my veins,
I feel the emptiness
clawing its way through me,
and you call it laziness.
You think I want to be like this-
as if anyone enjoys
feeling abandoned in their own skin.
You say pills might fix it,
but pills don't fix what's broken;
they only dim the lights
until the darkness creeps back in
to sit beside me again.
I'm not asking for 24/7,
I'm not asking you to save me-
just five minutes
to hold me,
to tell me it'll be okay,
that I'm safe,
that you're here.
But you offer solutions
instead of presence,
distance
instead of comfort.
So I pull back,
hide everything,
lock it all away
because talking about it
feels pointless now.
I'm back to square one-
alone,
silent,
carrying the weight myself.
And somewhere inside this silence,
I see the grave I've been digging
with every unanswered plea-
six feet deep,
waiting for me
with arms wide open,
something you
could never do.