A writers shadowy piece

Drowning in one’s illusions, suffocated by the façade you put on, going nuts over the controversial assumptions you make while having conversations with friends, the eagerness to go back to yourself, your home.

The lies you tell yourself, the anger that’s pent up and have you steaming on the inside like a pot of tea, as you remember the days you laugh so hard and choke on your own pretense, the unwillingness to breathe, the random conversations you have with strangers longing for some epitome of something, anything at all.

The struggles increase, as you lean towards giving up on each passing day, life itself holds no meaning anymore, and you find yourself staring at the abyss in desperation that it stares back. Giving up isn’t as easy as it seemed, you realize that there’s more to life than a few setbacks, you start seeing the stars again and the sun is back into your life. You whistle alongside the birds while you dance and swing on every lamp pole you see, you’re happy.

It’s been a long day, and you just want a bowl of cereal or something, you scroll through your insta feed, listening to calming tunes, liking every puppy video because why not? As you try to relax, you hear it, the lyrics of what you just thought was calming, the screams and pain each note has.

It had all been a distraction, you’re so far gone, and you recall that while you whistled and swung, all the faces nearby looked gloomy and confused, well you sang alongside death, while properly dressing the bed and preparing to meet with him.

You liked all the sad quotes because you could relate, and those stars, well, they were all memories, of the time when you wore a mask to envelop your pale face and not immediately you wake up.

You got so comfortable and so did your subconscious, now all you have to do is wait and see, if you’re strong enough to ignore death and focus on the birds.

Death may seem loud and available but deep down that isn’t what you want. I hope you conquer this, because depression never leaves you the same. It drags you through this vicious cycle, endlessly, ceaselessly, without a semblance of pity.

It drains, suffocates, consumes and leaves you at a cliff, closer to death than ever.

There’s no greater sadness or pain, nothing is worthless nor desirable, in this state one only thrives to breathe, how can one surpass this?

This is depression, a cancer that kills even the strongest of foes.