Depression

It's all my fault and no one can say otherwise on the matter

I know what I have, and I know what I don't

I know what I feel, and I know what I think day to day

I know what I have read and what others have said

I am a broken soul, but not for the reason one would expect

These thoughts run through my head

Depression, suicide, wonder, hurt, pain, numbness, stillness

They mean something, or at least they are supposed to

But the lines blur and the ink smudges

And there is nothing left except vague ideas that cross and mix with each other

Yes, I may have depression, or maybe I don't

Do I trust the people who know me or the text from the experts

Whether they are experts in biology or psychology

Regardless of source, I am able to feel these feelings of emptiness

Crawling through my body from my fevered mind

Some days are better than others in terms of feelings

The best is just sporadic emptiness mingled with the hours that pass

While the worst destroys my mind and entertains the thought of dying by my hand

Nothing is fun, my body slumps with sighs

My arms feel heavy, I force a smile as I do daily tasks

Most don't catch on, but self-deprecation makes them suspicious

Sometimes I lie and say that it's a joke

But other times I continue on the morbid streak

Causing some to be on high alert for vocal cues

And that's what kills me the most

I don't want to be a burden to them emotionally

Their assurance that I am not doesn't make me better because I know it's a lie

It's all my fault for being this way

Not the depression, not the anxiety, not the feelings in my head that plague me

But the way that things are handled

That is the problem that can be claimed as a self-inflicted worsening

Depressing music and videos lower my mood

Paranoia blocks my mind to positive thoughts however true

Refusal of medication, supplements and advice dash any chance of getting better

So what am I to do when all I can do is beat myself up?

It's a vicious cycle of self-hurt

Like an abusive relationship with myself in two different ways

One starts with a depressive thought

Spirals into wishing that I was better instead of internally dead

And ends with my soul hurting more from not achieving my goal, causing more depression

The other starts with a video or song

My body aching for catharsis

But my soul is left unsatisfied because I cannot match their pain

I am simply not as depressed and hurt as they are

Leaving me with a pit in my body that cannot be filled easily with anything

I want to get better, I really do

But I weigh myself down with resentment and doubt and pain

When I should instead soar like the butterfly I want to be

Dying would be easy

And others would be better off without me

I know that to be a true fact of this world because of all the worry I cause them

I will never be free of this torment

But I try every day, and every morning I have woken up

Another day to fight the demons

And another day given to relieve this curse I have thrust upon myself