Depression is a selfish illness in that it makes you think 

solely about one thing; Oneself. 

You try in vain to conquer these demons yet find it does little to 

help.

Awash with misery is standard & faitgue propping up the rear.

Barely a day goes by when you are not trapped behind your eyelids,

to fearful to see what is out there.

Constantly chatting to the inner voices trying to find some peace.

Strangely they answer at night time when you are desperately 

begging for sleep. 

Clawing at the walls is normal, fighting the tears of despair.

Any routine is broken whilst showing the depressive

standard bear. 

Drink and drugs offer a salvation up to a certain point. 

When reality hits like a locomotive the out pourings of sadness

bite, sharp, like a wolf.

Over the years this illness takes toll, the emotionals scar 

the worse to wear.

With sadness in the eyes and droop in the posture how is it possible

not to say 'life just isn't fair'. 

Surely it is easier to exit, to get away from this maddening soul.

But the pain of leaving loved ones ensures we keep our heads, 

down, in despair. 

When will I ever receover from this melancholy,

I better start taking therpay, surely that will help matters in 

long run, talking about what happened to me. 

The out pouring of grief was insurmountable, I didn't expect 

this crazy response. Where is this journey taking me, down a 

darkened heath. 

Over time I became whole again, coming at a certain price. 

The lost years can't be recoverd, oh, I can see what has gone.

No weddings, kids or christenings, and spouses to 

watch my back. 

I better pick my things up to start again, it is never to  

late to 'have a go' at life again. 

(For everyone who has struggled or is struggling, never give up. X)