I get told so often that mental illness isn’t real. Strangers, friends, even close loved ones will insist to my face that I simply need to “get over it” because it’s illogical and not real. But the mental anguish and trauma inflicted on myself by my own brain is very real. The scars that it leaves are very real. My hope is that this poem can help even one person get a glimpse of a day in the life of mental illness from my experience.
Depression is naming everything about yourself that makes you worthless before you’ve even opened your eyes for the day
It’s being choked underneath the sheets because you know the world outside of them is patiently waiting for you to show your face so it can remind you why it doesn’t want you there
Depression is being unable to convince yourself to do basic tasks like brushing your teeth or taking a shower because you know you don’t deserve to when you called in sick to class for the last three days
It’s missing appointments and calling off work because the thought of being awake for even one more second is like attaching a weight to your soul and dropping it into the ocean
But maybe if it sinks completely to the bottom then at least you’ll know you’re already at rock bottom.
Anxiety is the fear that even this isn’t rock bottom, that it’s possible for your life to spin even further out of your control, that things will really get worse
Depression is wanting to close your eyes and sleep the pain off, but never being able to sleep at night because that’s when the demons grow fangs. So you stay up until the sunrise where the purple shadows under your eyes are your victory prize
It’s dredging up the last crumbs of energy to fasten the smile in place so no one will worry about you, because anxiety’s worst fear is that someone will bother to worry or care that you are being tortured from the inside out
Depression is doing everything in your power to keep the demons at bay and knowing you are a warrior for being able to survive another day
It’s knowing that even though you did your best, this survival isn't living. It took my life and made it nothing.
Depression is the incessant bullying in your head echoed by loved ones asking why you can’t just do better, why you can’t just be better.
It’s knowing that as long as depression is your constant companion, you’ll always disappoint the people you want most to be proud of you
Depression is not giving a single fuck if you fail every assignment, lose every relationship, and burn every bridge because you know you don’t have a future, you never thought you would even make it past 15
And how could you when the barrel of the pill bottle is staring you down and whispering in your ear how easy it would be to simply slip away into a pain free reality
Depression is aching to answer that call because the thought of one more day of this consuming pain in your chest never going away is just too much to bear, and it would be so easy, so easy, and then your soul would finally be at peace
Anxiety is knowing you will never calm the burning in your skin that tells you to run as fast as you can, even though you can’t outrun a monster that lives inside your head
It’s a jittery leg that can’t stop bouncing and a hand that can’t stop tapping and a body constantly moving because if you stop moving you’ll forget if you’re really still alive and then you’ll panic because your brain has detached from the body it’s supposed to control and how can you be sure that you’re really still alive if you can’t find a pulse and you’re not sure if you’re breathing anymore or why your hands and feet are numb or why it’s happening for the fifth time tonight or why your chest feels like it’s on fire or why there’s a stabbing pain shooting down your arm or why your face begins to prickle and go so numb that you can’t move your lips to call for help because no one can see that you’re sure you are dying.
*BREATHE*
…
Depression is realizing in this moment of debilitating terror, in which your death is truly assured, that you can’t actually die yet - You forgot to tell your mom and dad and sister that you love them -
It’s choking on regret.
