Drowning

I'm drowning.

Not in a literal sense of course!

But it still feels like the real deal.

Everytime I breath in, my lungs yell in complaint as the thick, unbreathable air floods them,

They try to reject it everytime but no matter what happens, I'm still left breathless.

Depression is a burden I have to carry on my shoulders everyday.

It isn't easy.

I am not the only one who struggles to keep afloat.

It isn't an uncommon thing.

There are people drowning all around us, in their own vast ocean.

It's like you have fallen off the boat, the steady foundation of your life.

Or maybe, you were pushed.

Sacraficed.

Sabatoged.

Life isn't a fair player.

But in the water, it's everyone for themselves.

The fish, the thoughts, they know when someone has fallen in and they are quick to surround you.

Small voices swim around you, feeding you disgusting pieces of debris, lies, rumors.

“You are an annoyance.”

“Worthless.”

“Waste of space, time, money.”

“Can't do anything right.”

And if that wasn't bad enough,

Being underwater muffles all that you can hear, distorts it.

And that distorts the bitter into something a little more sweet.

Alas, the whisper's are not the only one's cheering the ocean.

I am too.

My voice echoes:

“No one will miss you.”

“You can disappear, nothing will change.”

“Everyone you love will be happier, better off.”

The seemingly unbreachable surface taunts you with light, flickering down upon you.

Just.

Just.

JUST out of your reach.

A false sense of hope.

The voices raining down from above, where it is safe don't help either.

“Just be happy.” is the equivilant of “Just swim up.”

“Do things you enjoy.” is the equivilant of “Stay afloat.”

“Don't be depressed.” is the equivilant of “Stop drowning.”

Eventually, you start embrace the coldness.

The darkness hugging you.

You start think that it is warm, comforting.

If you stay in it's vice like hold for long enough,

You'll just give up.

Start sinking down towards the sea floor,

Where there already bodies littering it as if they were just wrappers.

And really, that's what people can become.

Empty shells.

The previous tennant having of moved out, leaving depression to destroy the place.

The further you sink down, the more pressure you can feel build around you.

But then.

Your ears pop.

Sometimes, you just have to sink low enough to finally be able to hear clearly.

The bittersweet words that both you and depression fed used to taste the same, like cardboard.

No difference. It didn't mater what you heard.

But now.

Now.

Your senses cleared.

They are heightened and you are able to hear the venom leaking from the words.

The toxic relationship that you are in with the cursed illness.

You can taste the acid that you have been swallowing.

You can feel it burning you inside out.

And you can decide to finish it.

To stop it.

Pry away from the clawed grip of the sadness and swim back up.

Push yourself to what used to seem impossible.

Reach up, push that hand upwards to knock anything that stands in your path away.

And even if you don't expect it, there is going to be someone who grabs your hand.

To help you.

To pull you out of the wretched salty water where you were not supposed to be.

Don't let the wrong hand pull you away from what matters.

You.

And your happiness.