Having Depression is like finding out that mermaids are real
It doesn’t make sense to you until you’re getting dragged to the bottom of the ocean
And then you think
Oh
That’s what this is
And I’m drowning now,
That’s just……… great
And eventually, with your last vestiges of breath left
You float back to the surface
And you’re fine.
And that’s it.
Mermaids stop existing again.
Because you never actually saw what grabbed you
You only felt the claws around your leg
The cold, clammy hands tugging
With a force that you could never fight against
But you never saw her
So it was all a dream
Right?
And it happens again and again
You are drowning again and again
Until the water begins to feel like home
And the only thing reminding you that you are alive
Is the burning in your lungs
And when everything you had balanced so very carefully starts falling
Off the shelves of your life
When your “mild” depression starts deciding it wants to be more
When being alone makes you feel dead inside
And when losing your cool for one ******* second makes you contemplate your own demise
When do you admit to yourself that you are slipping
You are sinking and just because you can slow your descent
Does not mean that you’re not still drowning
And at the end of the day just because it took you longer to get there this time
Doesn’t mean you aren’t still lying on the ocean floor
Devoid of light and sound
And if you had just climbed onto that now distant boat and sailed away
You’d be fine.
But climbing was too hard
And sinking is so much easier
And you’re scared that if you reach out
Your hands will feel clammy and cold
As they wrap around your friends throats
And drag them down with you
And you would rather rot at the bottom of an endless sea
Than let that happen
So you lie in darkness and wait
For a sound
The singular resounding sound
Of failure
And you slowly float back to the surface
Take a deep breath
And you’re fine.
Because mermaids aren’t real
It’s all in your head

I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.

Sitting here,
feeling like part of me
has died.

I hate these walls
and these people
that surround me,

boxing me in,
squashing my dreams,
making me hate myself.

This ball of pain,
pit of darkness,
where my heart once was.

Somebody help me.
Somebody save me.
Before I lose myself.

Do you ever feel like you just need to get away?
That the daily ins and outs of life
Are getting too boring
Too repetitive
Too familiar
And you need something new in your life
Something exciting
Exhilarating
Unknown
Like you want to go on an adventure
See the sun rise in the morning
Bursting from the horizon in a brilliant stream of colour
Orange and red and pink and purple
And rising steadily until it is high enough in the sky
To be a white ball looking down on you
See the waves on a distant shore
Crashing against the earth in a never-ending battle
White foam topping their crests like crowns
Beating steadily, in a rhythm that is calming
The vast ocean spreading out before you
See a new city
Hear a different language spoken too fast for you to catch
Watch people bustle past carrying on their lives
Admire the culture and style and food of somewhere unfamiliar
Visit museums and galleries
Let your mouth gape at the sights
See rolling green hills
Rising and falling from the ground like waves
Grass swaying in a gentle breeze
Unbroken as far as the eye can see
The green so pure you could almost say it isn't real
See small villages
Full of people who love each other
And rely on each other
A community that shows you what it is to be human
What it is to be intimate and caring
See towering mountains
White capped and majestic
With peaks too high for you to see
That seem to touch the sky, pierce the clouds
And yet keep growing from the earth
See flowing rivers
Ploughing through the terrain
A steady stream of water that won't be stopped
Or babbling brooks
Dancing their way down a pile of rocks
Tickling the ground as they gently make their way to something greater
See history
Old buildings with vines snaking up their sides
Ruins that are crumbling but not gone
Structures that were a whole belief system once
Memorials to remember those who have been lost
And sites of important events
I want to get out and see the world
Get out of this bubble
This cage
This small, locked room
It almost feels as if I'm suffocating
And I need that breath of fresh air
That new thrill
That adventure.

My family is ripped apart, and Im standing in the middle.
They drag me in the one direction and then the other.
I think this will break me apart.
Their words hurts like knives, screaming out their hatred.

What Im supposed to do?
Anything I say, is like stepping on a minefield.
I try to shut it all out, but the screaming, the dragging, the hatred is too loud.

My soul is hurting.
I want to scream and cry, but nothing comes out.
Im just here.
In the middle of it all.
Trying to hold my self together, because it's the only thing I can do.
Just hoping.
That one day.
This war will end.

The day I entered this world, my eyes lit up.
They were a shade of blue that you only see in baby dolls and colored contacts.
Like my birthstone, aquamarine flood my eyes and breathe life into the souls around me.
I was bright blue, like the pure water I was baptized in.
Blue like the baby blankets they give you at hospitals.
The blue that no one can argue with, because everyone thinks blue is beautiful.

One day, I morphed into yellow.
I was the dandelions I made into flower crowns
and the banana Laffy Taffy that always stuck to my pants.
I was yellow sundresses, bright sunlight, and a warm smile.
My hair was the color of a wheat field.
One of my first words was “lellow.”
Lellow like Big Bird and banana runts.
The idea of something so bright, something so happy, soothed my childish brain.

There was a time when I was green.
Like the green of St. Patrick’s day, which I never dressed up for.
I was always pinched.
Green like the baseball diamonds I spent hours on as I watched my brother.
I was the grass I laid in, the grass I played in.
I was the green of an aging plant.
You could see colors swirling in intricate patterns throughout my mind.
The green of maturity;
of gears turning in my head.

Green turned to purple when I was uprooted from my home.
Omaha to Lincoln hit me like a lack of oxygen and turned me purple.
Just like a body without air, my limbs turned dark.
I was purple, like every middle school girl’s favorite color.
The purple of painted fingernails thumbing through Victoria’s Secret magazines.
The purple of trying to fit in with new friends.
I was the purple of colliding galaxies.
My brain was confused. They were making me something new.
They put me in purple high heels and pushed me forward.
“Learn how to walk,” they said.
Everything was the artificial grape that still makes me cringe.
Sometimes, I taste the purple Koolaid on my stained lips.

I’m glad my soul is done being black.
Black like the empty demon eyes that stared at me.
Like the pen that cracked in half and watched its ink flow.
Black like Sharpie tattoos and chokers.
Black mascara tear stains that burned my skin.
I fell deep into the night and into the abyss.
It was so dark that no one saw me fall.
I was blind with only a hint of yellow starlight to guide me.
So I followed it out.
I tracked the starlight through the night.
It was never easy. Sometimes I fell down and was dragged backwards.
But I finally left black.
I’m not all the way back to yellow yet, but at least I’m not black.

Now, I am white.
I am all of my colors wrapped into one.
I am the good and the bad, the clean and the impure.
At first glance, I am a blank page.
I appear to be a paper with no scratches, no eraser lines, no marks of red pens or bright highlighters.

But I am grape Koolaid stains.
I am hands covered in smears of black ink that cover my mouth.
Sometimes, I still eat Laffy Taffy and lemon lollipops.
I climb up tall trees and bask in the glow of leaves in the sunlight to learn something new.
I stare at the blue sky to remember what it feels like to fly.
I am a rainbow, hidden behind an expanse of white.