Depression lies.

Sitting there like a crouched creature, trapping the beast inside,

depression lies.

“You’re unremarkable, not desired, an adjunct failure,” it cries.

Depression lies.

Moving slowly, bellowing, sluggish through a swamp of self-defeat.

Depression lies.

It lies, like an unlit hearthstone at the bottom of the deepest, darkest dungeon.

Cold, unloving and chalking each success up as an “accident”,

depression lies.

It bares its soul at the foot of each wrong decision, eating energy away until you’ve withered into nothing,

Depression lies.

It showers us with doubt, like we shower the shower in tears of self-defeat, letting water separate our scars from what we are.

Depression lies.

It has a hold on the mold that pieces pictures of my life together,

bringing comfort in the form of the end, deciding for you that you don’t need a “friend.”

Depression lies,

and I hate it for that.