I’ve been struggling with depression off and on for many years. Even before I wanted to be a writer, writing down my feelings has helped me deal with them. While, now, I’m in more of a “stressed” phase than “depressed” phase, these words needed to be released. Otherwise, my brain would constantly dwell on them. So here they are, in raw passion, unedited and most likely scattered. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re struggling with depression or stress, as well, this can help you find your own words to help with your feelings. It is one of the worst things we can go through alone, and I want to give something that people can relate to at the very least.
So far, I have woken up every morning. Many times, I wonder why. Surely my life can’t mean that much; even if eveyone around me tells me they love me. Every morning, I put my feet on the floor. Though I don’t feel anything solid. I feel like I’m forever falling. Forever falling into a bottomless pit of darkness filled with ravenous monsters eager to devour my soul. There are days, hopeful days. A few days where I feel like a warrior clad in impenetrable armor. I fight the darkness the entire day. Even if a part of my brain is scared of the darkness. I don’t know what lies ahead, what challenges I’ll face, or the monsters that will confront me. There is a fear of the unknown.
And that’s all it takes. That simple ounce of fear sends me sliding back toward the monsters. The majority of the time, I’m not as impenetrable as I believed. Stress finds its cracks and seeps under my skin, causing me pain. Then I wonder. What am I doing wrong? Rather, what is wrong with me? Am I the monster? Am I the one who needs to be destroyed? All I do is cause pain to those around me. I take up their time. I can’t bother them with my problems when they have their own. Who wants to listen to me whine? Surely that’s how they view me. As a pathetic baby who can’t handle life.
So I let myself fall. The majority of the time, I willingly walk back into the pit. Even though there’s nothing but darkness and solitude, at least it’s familiar. In a way, the cold is comforting. It’s something I know, something I can always go back to. Yet, my heart knows it’s wrong. Wrong to retreat. Is that what I’m doing? Retreating? So now I’m a coward. Another name to add to my mental insults. No one is more judgmental of me than me. Look at me. I’m not worth anything. Then I’m told I’m worth everything. But how can I believe something like that? I’m too far gone.
The pit seems friendlier than friends and family. Despite the monsters waiting for my soul. Some days, I try for the light. Most days, exhaustion leads me to darkness. And I follow. Why should I fight? I might win a handful of days, but I always end up right back where I started. At the bottom. Surrounded by darkness. Closed in by monsters. Though I wonder if I’m the monster. Or are they the feelings inside me? I care not to know anymore. I’m stuck in the middle of my feelings. And I’m done. Done fighting, done giving up. It’s hard to explain. I’m just done.
I don’t know what to do or where to go. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, don’t know what’s light or darkness. I don’t know if I want life or death, heaven or hell. I just want to be done. Done with the aches and pains. Done with the constant mental distress. Even when I have good days, all I count are the bad days. I want to stop. I don’t know how. I’m in a perpetual cycle of negative feelings. Even when I have everything to be positive about.
All I see, think, hear, feel is negative. I don’t understand how to make a positive. I’m convinced my brain doesn’t work that way. I have to messed up, broken inside. Nobody wants me even though everybody does. How do I know they want me? How do I know they really don’t see me as a burden? Words can mean everything or nothing. How do I know? I don’t. I’m running in circles, repeating myself. I’m a broken record. My body, mind, and soul are tired. I want to be done.