Depression is..the great imitator.
The greatest actor there is.
And the Oscar goes to…
I sing your songs but I don’t know the words. I don’t recognize the melody.
I laugh at your jokes, but I don’t find them funny.
These smiles aren’t genuine. They aren’t really smiles.
They’re a barrier…between pleasure and my person.
All that causes you joy, which used to do the same for me, rests outside these smiles, upon these lips, but it doesn’t get through.
Joy doesn’t touch me.
Pleasure escapes me.
I can’t just snap out of something that feels woven into the fabric of my being.
Depression doesn’t care about your sweet nothings or your positive vibes.
When I am trapped in a cycle of seemingly never-ending negative thoughts, swirling ‘round and ‘round my head, my own suffering does little to inspire me to act.
I chew truth backwards.
I’ve grown desensitized to my own pain.
I invert pain.
Pain is now comfort.
I sit comfortably in my suffering. It’s all I seem to know. It’s all I feel, cause I feel no joy. No pleasure. No happiness.
But I don’t need to feel those things to sing your songs.
To laugh at your jokes.
To give you a smile.
Depression isn’t something people just “snap” out of. It’s not something that is remedied by just “getting out the house.” By “smiling.” This isn’t how this works. Depression is always working on me. It’s always there. Today, I am in control. I am strong. Storms fill my head, I often feel empty and hollow, but I am still here. This world wants to experience itself through me and I am a survivor.