I have a mind like a sieve,
where sadness sits
and happiness slips

See, I have dated death
and decided
he was not
the man for me.

Depression is a physical illness, like bleeding from a wound that won’t close. You cannot fix it, it doesn’t heal.

It is not the darkness of shadows: one that follows you, haunts you, terrifies you.
Instead, it consumes you, becomes you, weighs you down.
It IS you.
It is comforting. Familiar.
I have walked with it. Eaten with it. Loved with it. Smiled with it.
Yet I feel it destroying me.
Like cancer.
But I can’t remove it. It stays inside of me, taunting me to kill it, myself, but it does not realize that this seduction keeps me alive.

Sleeping is much safer than the nightmare I’m living.
When I sleep I feel nothing and I do nothing and I see nothing and nothing matters and no one cares. There’s no one to hurt or disappoint or notice when I’m low and I don’t need to face anyone not anyone in the world or not even myself.

Love heals all.
Love overcomes all.
And though you cannot love someone's illness away.
Sometimes it is best to love them at all.