A Broken Bottle Shattered

I finally figured out a way to describe my depression. The sad thing though is that it’s not always the same, so this doesn’t apply every time, but:

I feel like a small child hiding in a corner of a dark room from their drunk abusive parent 

Afraid to make a sound because dad just came home from the bar with an empty bottle in hand with me knowing what’s coming next

Tears streaming down my face 

Holding my mouth closed 

Because I know what happened when I’m found

But it’s too late 

I’ve been found and forced to live through a never ending pain each and every day of my life 

Walking around trying to hide the fact from others of the abuse every night when my monster comes out to play

You see, me waiting and hiding in that corner trying not to make a sound and being afraid

is my anxiety that’s constantly with me. That won’t go away no matter how hard I try. It’s the feeling of panic that won’t go away. It’s always in the pit of my stomach, just wanting me to be safe, but tries to keep me safe in all the wrong ways. By making me afraid and worry about everything. I overthink until I can’t think anymore, but then what if I’m not thinking enough because what if I left the oven on, or what if I left my door unlocked, or I forgot to tell someone I love them, and that was my last time seeing them, or what if by making the smallest  decision  instead of the other, I have messed with my entire future, and I’ve just set into motion for the people I love to die because of one stupid idiotic choice of choosing apple juice over orange. Plus if for some reason depression isn’t there, I worry when it will come back because there’s no way I could actually be happy and stay that way. No, no that’s not possible. I mean like, I deserve this, right. Right.

 And that’s where the drunken abusive parent comes in and starts to attack me every night. That parent is my depression. Entering my mind with a hand grenade, ready to destroy me by working from the inside out. It’s one of the only things that makes you do the dirty work for it. I can’t stand to be alone anymore because that’s when it speaks the loudest. Telling me that I don’t matter. That no one cares. That not one needs, and for that matter, they don’t want me either. Why should I stick around because I’m just a disappointment anyway. That there’s no point in getting up anyway because I’m just going to fail. Making everything I want to do pointless, and have no meaning. If you want to know how I feel, well here you go because this is the best way I can explain it.