I don't remember how it started, but if I did

I would imagine it to be like a fog

twisting and pulsating within

the confinements of my brain


A speck

Of dust smudged between "I'm tired" and

"I've had just about enough of this."


It grew,

pressing against the inside of my skull,

consuming every happy thought my brain

saw fit to grace me with.



It didn't just stop there but spread

Washing over my spine and pouring

into my veins like a drug.



It turned my food, into oil for the flames

my appetite, a compilation of ash and soot

and the act eating a chore

I just couldn't sit through.


I lay awake at night.


My body a tomb stone wedged

into tthe earth of my mattress

sheets, delicate foiliage and my spirit

forever trapped in a place that never saw

the light of day.



A word in which those of us who actually have it

never speak aloud.



is for those who have lost a loved one

for those, who have been raped

for those, who have faced the lowest level of hell

and barely made it out alive


Not for an eighteen year old facing her first semester of college

and hoping that with every rise of the sun

she will care enough about herself to

crawl out of bed.


They're damn right depression hurts,

but they don't tell you that it is sly and understanding

that it makes excuses

that it  turns an exceptional human being into a phantom

walking amongst the living

touched by nothing and no one.


Alone. Trapped.



An infection of the mind, body, and spirit that festers and bleeds,

leaving nothing in its wake but suffering.


Put that into the DSM.




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