"Depression is like the weather.
Some days it rains,
Some days it pours,
But if you stick around long enough,
You will see the sun."

That was what my dad told me...
And to an extent he was right.
But the dark clouds follow me
To where I stand in the rain of tears
Brought about by my own self being.

" depression hurts,
 but you don't have to,
 Cymbalta can help."
But at the end of the day
Not all of the medication in the world
Seems to help mend these thoughts.

I want to live,
I don't want to die.
However these thoughts...
These ideas that pop into my mind,
They are foreign and uneasy
To my mind, body, and old soul.

"I'll be fine"
I find myself saying this a lot lately.