Depression, Addressed

“I HATE YOU!”

The words repeating in my mind.

Hating myself for every missed opportunity.

Envious of others who act with the confidence I believe I could never have.

Standing on business. Being assertive.

Something I never saw myself doing.

The reflection in the mirror these days doesn’t look all that great.

Average at best. Ordinary. Unfit.

Where is my worth?

Where can I go to be valued?

As I question my existence, I lose motivation and interest in living.

Depression has me feeling removed and all out of place.

Telling me I am shameful, not deserving, and definitely not enough.

Damn, depression, do you have to be this blunt?

“I hate you!”

“You’ll never amount to much.”

The words still repeating, adding something extra this time.

Depression makes me hate myself for all the times I was silent.

And every time it silenced me, even when I was only trying to look out for me.

I tear myself down and self-isolate, ignoring calls, neglecting friends, and then having the nerve to resent the loneliness.

Yet I am still here, standing in front of the mirror, talking to myself out loud.

My internal voice,

That always speaks up for me.

It tells me that I am worth more than I could ever imagine.

Reminds me that I’m loved as I am.

Tells me to go get a haircut, put on something decent, and do something that makes me feel good.

It reminds me that it is truly a blessing to be me—good looking, stylish, and sometimes funny—

without tooting my own horn or getting overly cocky.

I hear myself talking back and being defiant—

this inner dialogue,

depression vs. me.

Got me feeling like Issa Rae—

insecure, self-questioning,

but still encouraging myself along the way.

“I hate you.”

The words still linger,

but now they seem distant.

Like a voice trying to get my attention.

And I don’t feed into it.

Instead, I straighten my shoulders,

meet my own eyes,

and think—

maybe it’s not so bad,

being me.