For me, depression is walking across the street without looking both ways.
It's sitting in a car wishing an accident would come, wishing you would be the only casualty.
It's cooking everything despite not wanting to, eating everything in sight just because there's a slim chance of dying from poison.
It's staying out in the rain and never moving, staring in the distance. Waiting for a branch to knock me unconscious.
It's staying up till dawn knowing you have to be up early the next day.
It's zoning out at random intervals because you have no energy anymore.
It's staying in your room unless necessary.
It's staying in bed until life comes knocking at the door.
It's losing inspiration on things you previously liked.
To me, these are the meaning of depression.

I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything I've said, or done, for everything I said id do but didn't, and all the stress I've put on you. I'm sorry I'm like this, forgetful, naive, short tempered. I'm sorry I never said what I really wanted to say, and what I really felt. I'm sorry for letting my emotions get the best of me and I'm sorry I said all those things to you. I'm sorry for who I am, as a person, as a daughter, as a friend. I'm sorry for being me, I'm sorry for being human, for having flaws and for having my pride. I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry. I'm sorry and I hope you'd still want me even after everything.
I know, deep inside me, that I don't deserve your forgiveness, that I don't deserve your faith, and kindness, and love. I know that I don't deserve anything good anybody would give me, because of how I am, and how I act. I know, that even if I change and repent, there will always be a part of you who would doubt, and suspect. I know that even if I spend the rest of my life trying to better myself, I would never deserve anything good, I would never get what I really need; your love. and I know even if you say I have it, that I don't, because **** like me don't have an ounce of love to give, and a bottomless pit to fill.
But still, I write this to you. I write this for myself, in an attempt to change, to repent and turn, still I write this, with no intention of ever giving it to you, with no intention of ever letting anybody's eyes aside from mine read this. I am human, filled with flaws and pride and I refuse to appear weak. I am human, and I love you. I am human, and I know I will never deserve you.

People seem to think that poetry is easy
Just a few lines of a certain topic and you're done
But poetry is more than that.

It's the feelings of a writer
The truth in a lie
A subtle hint

It's the painting of a story
A mix of color and life
The perspective of a man

It's the melody of the heart
The sound of life
That constant beat

It's the thoughts of the quiet
From fanciful to fact
The deepest notion

Have you heard of the story of the Stomach and the Limbs? Where the limbs refused to work because "why should we feed something that doesn't work aside from eating?" And then the stomach wasted away with the limbs until they realised that the stomach gave them energy to function and decided to feed it.

That story had me thinking that the owner of the body had become depressed, hence them not moving or eating anymore and that one day someone helped them and they got better and began to function again.

100 stories from when we met
100 moments worth remembering
100 days with you
Grief and happiness
Two sides of the same coin
Two sides of our love
Two sides of you
You, me, and her
Lovers who lie
Love built on pillars of gravel
Love lost to another heart
One day
I'll forget your pain
One day I'll discover someone
Worth a thousand more
One day I'll find
A heart deeper than yours
To drown in

It wasn’t something that just appeared, it wasn’t something that was just found, it was unlike the finding of money on the floor.

It was slow, it crept in while you slept and slowly covered everything. Like the rising of the moon, sometimes in broad daylight and never noticed until dark, until it was at the peak of it’s rise. Like the falling of an avalanche, seemingly slow and insignificant yet drastically changes everything in its path.

At first, it was a stray thought, easily shaken off at the first sign of reassurance.  Occurring maybe once every few months, not at all worth questioning. Then it rises in frequency, and it needs more than a glance to disperse. It’s starting to plant doubts in your mind, but it seems weak, like the weeds in the ground, so sometimes you let it pass, let it go, because it’s weak and doesn’t need to be pulled, doesn’t need to be reassured.

But then the **** grows, spreads it’s poison to every part of your world, to your thoughts and your dreams, to your waking hours. What once was a sprout became a tree, became a forest, and suddenly, you can’t remember what you used to do before the forest arrived. Suddenly you don’t remember why you watered the large forests that surround you, don’t remember how you got there, how it got there. Just that tending the forests were your job, and you can’t leave.

Suddenly, what clear skies you used to have becomes shaded, blotched and covered. The forest has extended its branches and its invading your space, and as the tender of the forest, you do nothing to discourage the far reaching branches and the roots that set about to destroy your plains.

Suddenly its dark and moist and alone. Suddenly your surrounded with no way out, with no way to tell up from down, and there isn’t anything in the area, just you and the trees and it feels like the trees are alive and something is here.

And how can there be anything there when you’re alone?

I won't trust you,
When you say you're  afraid
of losing me someday

I won't trust you,
When you don't say what you mean
and show what you feel

I won't trust you,
Because people have to face their fears
And show their true selves.

I was never the first to anyone. Never the favorite. Never the beloved. I was always who they chose when they ran out of ideas. When they need a scapegoat. Or when they need a safety net. That was me.

No one would willingly choose me. And I don't understand why. Am I lacking in anything? Do I need to do something before you choose me? Tell me.

I've always wondered: why does no one want me? I can never be the first one my parents love, I'm the last they concieved. I also can't be the one people love, and I don't understand. I've done everything you wanted, yet still you choose someone else.

Can I ever not be the second choice?

Can you remember when you were but a child? Filled with innocence and happiness, so full of love and hope. Do you remember when everything was full of life and color? When everything was fun and games.

I can't. I can't remember a day in my childhood that was happy. I can't remember a day that wasn't filled with terror and darkness. The only companion I had was my own mind, and even then it tries to hurt me. I can't seem to find any rests.

Lately though, it seems as if my mind has taken a break. It seems as if the darkness has lifted and I'm scared. I'm scared of the light that seeps into my soul. I'm scared of the happiness that ray of sunshine brings to my dark miserable life.

It seems I can't live without it anymore. I used to think that I'd one day break free of my mind, that I could finally be free from the tendrils of darkness wrapped so firmly around me. It is only now I realize how my darkness had saved me. How it protected me from this awful world.

I don't want it to leave. I want it to come back. Where has it gone? My darkness, my guardian, my salvation. My beautiful misery.