When the Light Grows Quiet

Depression, Unedited

Dedication

For those who wake each day carrying an invisible weight.

For the ones who stay when staying is the work.

For the parts of us that keep breathing

even when words feel far away.

Depression isn’t sadness.

Sadness moves.

Depression stays.

It sits in the body

like something unfinished—

a sentence that never reaches the verb.

You wake up already tired,

not from lack of sleep

but from having to be here again.

People say try,

as if effort is the missing ingredient.

As if you haven’t been trying

every minute you’re still breathing.

Your thoughts don’t scream.

They flatten.

They repeat.

They make everything feel pointless

without ever saying why.

You don’t want to die.

You just don’t want to exist

this heavily.

Even joy feels suspicious—

like it might disappear

the moment you notice it.

You cancel plans

because being seen feels impossible.

You keep plans

because explaining feels worse.

Your body becomes a place

you tolerate, not inhabit.

And still—

you show up.

You eat something.

You answer one message.

You stay.

That is not weakness.

That is endurance

with no applause.

Depression lies to you

in your own voice.

Tells you this is who you are now.

Tells you this is permanent.

It isn’t.

Even when you can’t feel hope,

your breath keeps choosing life

for you.

And for now,

that is enough

— Flower InBloom