Depression isn’t sadness.
Sadness passes.
This stays.
It doesn’t knock for attention,
doesn’t cry out loud-
it seeps in,
quiet as floodwater
rising inch by inch
until I’m drowning
in a room that looks dry.
It comes in waves.
Not the kind you watch from shore-
the kind that drag you under
and let you taste the dark.
It is hunger without appetite,
teeth in my ribs,
eating me alive
from the inside out.
It is numbness-
a winter that settles in my bones.
Emptiness-
an echo where a heartbeat should be.
Anxiety-
a siren with no off switch.
My body turns to stone.
Bed becomes gravity.
Every limb weighs a thousand unsaid words.
My muscles ache
like I’ve been fighting a war
no one else can see.
My mind is louder.
Thoughts circle like vultures.
They know my name.
They whisper it sharp.
There are moments
when the urge to disappear
feels softer than staying.
When hurting feels like proof
that I can still feel anything at all.
Vulnerability cracks me open.
I bleed questions:
Does anyone see this?
Does anyone understand?
Does anyone love me
when I am like this?
I want relief-
not applause,
not pity.
Just quiet.
Just one full breath
that doesn’t feel borrowed.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 3:32 PM UTC
Depression isn’t sadness.
Sadness passes.
This stays.
It doesn’t knock for attention,
doesn’t cry out loud-
it seeps in,
quiet as floodwater
rising inch by inch
until I’m drowning
in a room that looks dry.
It comes in waves.
Not the kind you watch from shore-
the kind that drag you under
and let you taste the dark.
It is hunger without appetite,
teeth in my ribs,
eating me alive
from the inside out.
It is numbness-
a winter that settles in my bones.
Emptiness-
an echo where a heartbeat should be.
Anxiety-
a siren with no off switch.
My body turns to stone.
Bed becomes gravity.
Every limb weighs a thousand unsaid words.
My muscles ache
like I’ve been fighting a war
no one else can see.
My mind is louder.
Thoughts circle like vultures.
They know my name.
They whisper it sharp.
There are moments
when the urge to disappear
feels softer than staying.
When hurting feels like proof
that I can still feel anything at all.
Vulnerability cracks me open.
I bleed questions:
Does anyone see this?
Does anyone understand?
Does anyone love me
when I am like this?
I want relief-
not applause,
not pity.
Just quiet.
Just one full breath
that doesn’t feel borrowed.