Depression.
When I say that
I am not talking about
The immense grief that consumes you
After a tragic event takes place.
Thats the kind that other people get
That they understand.

I am talking about
The dark sheath that wraps your body
So tightly that it gets hard to breathe
When all the free meals stop coming
And the funerals are finished.
Like cellophane, it constricts you
So that every bit of movement and circulation
Are cut off and shut out.

It's like you are trudging through mud
The thickest, most vile mud you have ever seen or touched
And it is not the mud that is half water, half dirt
But rather is mostly condensed soil
With a small bit of liquid added to it to make it impossible to walk through.

It is massive and sludgy
So much so that it takes your entirety to travel mere inches.
You are so focused on swimming through this mud
Putting all of your weight, power and force into it
That life kind of goes on the back burner.

This trek wears you down to the bone
Mentally and physically, you are weakened
And society expects you to just move on and be "fine"
But they don't know
They don't know.

Its an internal war with external effects
That people whom are not directly impacted
Judge and critique.
Who are we to consider the fighters of mental illness
Any weaker than we are?

Frankly, they battle to be strong every day
Because they are fighting to keep fighting
And their disorder has no hold on them.
To the ones who lost the battle
We fight for you too.