depression is not tragically beautiful
depression is not roses sprouting from wrists
it is not beautiful girls with delicate bones
it is lying in a pile of your own blood for hours
thinking that maybe if you keep on waiting
that maybe you’ll be swallowed up
depression is Tuesday mornings
spent puking up vodka
from last nights sleepless hysterics
depression is standing in your best friend’s bathroom
on some midnight in january
sobbing as you drag a blade across your wrist
depression is not being able to use red pens
or sewing needles anymore
depression is blood stains on your sheets
and rusty blades shoved under pillows
depression is sitting in a school stall
and carving your feelings into your flesh
depression is sitting in therapy
and swearing you’ll be okay
not knowing whether that’s the truth or not
depression is lying with dry eyes and staring at the ceiling
as you watch the alarm clock go off
missing another night’s sleep
it’s sleeping for days on end because it’s all you can do
to avoid the screaming of the demons
it’s missing schoolwork and failing tests
and yelling parents who don’t understand
it’s friends who see selfishness
and teachers who see laziness
it’s very rarely the golden girl
struggling through a difficult time
it’s blood and guts and tears
never beauty, never quiet, never calm
it’s screaming so loudly that your throat goes hoarse
but never hearing the sound come out
it’s not valiant, not admirable
not poetic nor enviable
it’s a bloody, harrowing, disgusting
i do not want to live like this, nobody wants to live like this, but this disease has trapped me and i cannot get out (m.g.t)