They say that the person that you are during depression
Isn’t your real self
Which means that those who are depressed from a young age
Never found their real selves
It’s terrifying to realise
That I’m nothing more than my disorder

The depression is a blanket over my existence
And with enough effort
I could pull it off
But what would I find underneath?
A clean slate
For I am nothing more than my disorder

My life will never have a purpose
I will never fall in love
There’s nothing that I could ever be admired for
I will never grow old
Because I’m just a child
And I am nothing more than my disorder

I can no longer tell whether this condition of mine
Is mental or physical
I treat every day as if I have an infinite amount left
As if I can make up for wasting today
When in reality, I have less time than most others
And I am nothing more than my disorder

In order to function like a normal human being, I need drugs
Without my happy pills
I can’t sleep
I can’t eat
I can’t speak
But even with them, I’m a poor excuse for a person
In reality, I’m nothing more than my disorder

I'm a collection of painful thoughts
And repetitive, meaningless memories
I hate every inch of this body
And every crevice of this mind
This is what my disorder has made me
Now I'm nothing more...