Depression and I have been dating each other for five years. Depression was a lover that would convince me to bed earlier than anyone ever should. Depression kissed me on the first date, and I haven’t shaken my lover since.
Depression cuddled me in the mornings, telling me to not get up, to spend the day in bed. Depression told me it loved me and held me while I cried. Depression never left my side. Depression may never leave me.
Depression introduced me to our close friends: Loneliness, Anxiety, Blades, Beer Bottles, Pills, and Cigarettes. Depression took me on dates to bars and parties and dark alleyways.
Depression let Loneliness float around me and keep me company, we went on double dates with Anxiety and Blades, we hung out with Beer Bottles and Pills while watching movies and we took Cigarettes out to our favorite spots.
Depression held my hand and guided me through hallways, pointing out every disapproving glance, every scornful look. Depression held tightly to my arm and convinced me that no one else would find me as beautiful as it did.
Depression loves me, and I know it always will. I have taken us to couple’s therapy to try and reach compromise but Depression convinced me that we didn’t need it. That we were fine, just us.
Depression convinced me that all of my friends have secret agendas against our love. Depression held me after I was taken from myself; Depression coaxed me to our bed, where we lay for three days together.
Depression assured me that no one would love me as much as it did. Depression held me by the wrist where Blades had kissed me before, and reminded me how loving anyone else could be so painful. Depression made me fully aware that I was not enough for anyone but it. Depression was all I deserved.
Depression coddled me when I fought with my parents, Depression kissed me after my siblings and I quarreled, Depression held me tightly when people left me. Depression was my only friend and lover.
Depression and I are joined at the hip. After five years, Depression has asked me to remain bounded forever, proposing, and promising to never leave me. It is possible that we will be united until death do us part.
Depression is all I have, and Depression gets angry when others tell me that they’re feeling depressed. Because depressed and Depression are entirely different beings. Depression doesn’t realize that pain is relevant and what doesn’t kill me, may kill them.
Depression can be heartless sometimes, but will always give me love after any quarrels. Depression can kick me around, but I recognize that in this case I can do nothing. Depression and I are one. There is no one for me than Depression and our close friends.
Depression and I are stuck with each other, through the bad and the worse, for sickness and dying, for poorer or for destitute, till death do we part.
Depression loves me.