The Greek King Midas had the ability
where everything he touched turned to gold.
While it may seem great at face value,
the inability to pat his kids on the back,
or high five a friend was destroyed.
But at least,
something positive could be ordained from his curse.
Whereas everything I touch,
withers away and dies.
Screaming in agony and misery.
Living reclusively,
I sometimes forget about that fact,
until I get too close,
reach out,
and become instantly reminded.

Water pours down,
splashing all over the keys.
As I sit in a room,
without a leaky ceiling,
or an open window,
or even,
a cloud in the sky.

One of the most frustrating things,
is when people say they know how I feel.
Frankly, no you don't.
I'm not discrediting the burden you are saddled with,
as your trials and tribulations may have been great,
but you can't possibly know how I feel.
Can you possibly comprehend what its like
to feel empty? to feel nothing?

Sometimes,
people take it a step further.
When talking about being hurt,
they feel the need to relate a story
about how they overcame
the tragedy of a passed away family pet
or one time daddy didn't buy them everything.

While those may be instances of pain,
pain and hurt are two separate categories entirely.
Pain is short term. Temporary.
Hurt can be eternal.
Something you don't just
"get over".

At least the people who say things like
"get over it" aren't misguided.
They don't understand,
but at least they haven't deceived themselves
into thinking they know what it's like to hurt.

Abuse after abuse
scar tissue forming over broken nerves
only reflect the inner hollowness
of no more feeling.

Ever so often a flair of hurt
wears down the numbed barriers
becoming the only thing that's real.

You can't tell me you know how
I feel.

Because I don't feel. Not anymore.

Depression isn't anything new for me.
Its a constant nagging in the back of my mind,
constantly needing attention deep down.
Sipping my ability to focus on other things,
draining concentration.

But to other people,
its always a new story to be told
a deeper, underlying theme
just below the surface
of my nonchalance.

I'm always reluctant to share that side,
as the air of separation
is extremely comforting.
A last line of defense,
an imaginary bubble that no one can penetrate.

Because not many people actually know
what despair feels like.
The term "rock bottom" is tossed around,
but how many people actually feel like
there is literally no way things can get worse?

It isn't ever logical,
I cannot explain why depression is what it is.
Its not that you aren't happy,
more like you cannot bring yourself to happiness,
no matter how much you want to.

That's what people don't see.
You really, really want to go out and have fun,
but there's something inside
constantly forcing you down,
as if that's the normal thing.

Which leads to the same conversation,
"Hey wanna go do something?"
"No, I'm not feeling it."
"Why, what's wrong? What can I do to help?"
And I don't even know.

Because I often have no idea what I want,
or what could possibly make me feel better.
I know what doesn't help.
When people just get frustrated, or worse,
try and tell me how, and what, to feel.

Frustration builds,
because they want to help,
they truly do,
but they can't.
No matter how hard they try.

The words in the background
that make me feel the way that I do
just get louder and louder,
to a deafening volume,
drowning everything else out.

Its unreal,
even if you have everything in the entire world,
you still feel like you have nothing.
Depression is indiscriminate.
It can find anyone, applying a stranglehold.

Our minds are beautiful.
Able to help overcome pain, see past malice,
protect us from the truth, create delusions
so we don't have to deal with the reality.
The mind's ability to create barriers and limits
isn't a focused laser beam only taking away the bad
and leaving the good,
its often more like a clumsy grenade,
leaving craters of casualties in the wake of destruction.
Anything and everything can be controlled and limited
in the powerful grips the mind has over you.
Even love.
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
Because that's adapting.
But it still hurt.
Because it actually hurts more to expect anything else.
But it still hurt.
Because disappointment was norm.
But it still hurt.
Because anticipating being let down seemed better.
But it still hurt.
Because then it didn't scar all the way to the core.
But it still hurt.
Because life hurts.

Never realized my friends were trying to save me,
I just didn't feel worth saving.

A young man,
struggles to be able to find comfort.
Most just credit this to a bad day or two,
but what if every day is like that?
Where merely closing his eyes
refreshes all the tragedies of the past
that are permanently imprinted,
just behind the eyelids.
All he wishes for,
is to be able to find peace and comfort
to close his eyes,
without fear of reliving the horrific.
To just,
sleep.
A friend gives him a bottle of sleeping pills,
and a bed to sleep in.
First few pills don't work,
he's just so very tired.
So he shovels more down,
popping them like candy.
As the room fades away,
he finally feels that he can rest.
Only to wake up
after violently convulsing
in a pool of his own *****.
What really struck this guy as significant,
is not what he found,
but what he didn't find.
No one was there standing over,
trying to help.
No one noticed.
No one cared.
If he never woke up,
the world would have kept turning,
leaving him in the dust,
barely a memory.