He awoke one morning sobbing and crying. He didn't know why, but on the inside he felt like he was dying.
He could hear his wife and kids going on about their day as he lay in the bed.
He tried to be strong for them, tried to wipe away his tears but he couldn't.
And instead of being the stereotypical man, keeping his head held high and going to work with his own two hands... he fell to the floor and cried out in pain. His crying was uncontrollable; the tears ran down his cheeks and hit the floor like pouring rain.

He was diagnosed with depression so he took drugs to relieve himself of his compression.
He took the drugs so he could once again open his eyes and see the color of the day.
He took the drugs so he could smile, look around and not be afraid to go this way or that way.
Each time he would take the med, he would smile because he knew soon enough he would be better. But what he didn't know, was that smile would soon turn to a dread. That wasn't suppossed to happen.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months not going to work. Each and every day he would look at his adult hands but each and every day, he would feel less like a man and more like a child. He was in even more pain now.
He felt more and more like suicide was the only way out, but every time that thought crossed his mind, he cried. He was afraid of what might happened if he tried.
Would it hurt? But what could hurt worse that the pain he was feeling at that moment?

He had a voice but it was soft spoken and no one could hear it, or maybe he just didn't know how to explain the pain he felt on the inside and out.
On the inside he was reaching out for help but his hands wouldn't move, he was stuck in time, stuck in this groove.
He became disabled and was denied disability over and over again.

He went to doctor appointment after doctor appointment and continued to sign his life away with the same ******* pen.
He would frequently fall into pits of darkness and the professionals kept pushing facility after facility. They wanted to take him away from his family and make him someone else's liability.

He often wondered if there was anyone else out there that knew his pain. He tried to explain, but never could. Let's say he was actually able to, what would he gain?
It would just be another person feeling sorry for him, and he didn't need that.
Could anyone else really know what it's like to wake up every day just to be terrified to go outside?

And it wasn't that he didn't give it any effort because believe it, he tried.
Could anyone else really know what it's like to walk in public and feel every pair of eyeballs watching?

He knew he wasn't like everybody else and he knew they knew it too.
He constantly felt like he was in a play, center stage and everyone was watching it.
He tried to keep his head down, he tried to not give a **** but it didn't work.
He was a marrionette puppet, he couldn't control his movements. Back to center stage it was a nuisance.

Oh how he wished he could just go back to being depressed and ****. At least he could pretend and try to repress it, like Robin Williams.
But in reality Robin Williams was gone. And a few days after the news broke, he found out he was taking the same **** Robin was on.