Everyone tells you it's simple to get over a spill of depression. That's what they think it is. A Spill, but it's more than that.
A spill ruins what's around it, the liquid often stains the surface where the initial spill happened, but emotions such as depression can not simply be summed up into such a simple solution.
They tell you it can. They tell you it'll get better. They offer up the reprieve of a swift conversation to make 'you' feel better, but it's not entirely the truth.
Such a conversation is offered up at your expense.
They want to not feel neglectful. A feeling of that magnitude would weigh too heavily on their conscious.
So, they tell you to get better. They tell you another day is a day to turn around, to smile, to he thankful, but it's not that simple is it?
Should it be? They tell me it should be, but how can I believe them when my body rejects such a sentiment. My mind detests those words because such a powerful mechanism knows the truth. It isn't a spill.
My body harbors depression, letting it leak into my mind, my thoughts, my actions, and my knowledge.
It shatters away at the tethers of happiness I have, leaving them practically bare and decrepit by the time the process of joyful malnutrition departs from my system.
The system that they say will get better.
They offer advice, but no solution. They act is if they know, but have no experience.
Spills. Can joy be considered a spill? Can sorrow be considered a spill? Can hate be considered a spill?
Spills are temporary. They are overflowing, lapping away at the sides of the fixture holding it in.
Spills can be taken care of, they can be forgotten, but depression can not, and yet, they treat it as if it's a simple emotion, but it's far more complex.