Depression is aggressive deprivation. It steals the love from your heart and the light from your eyes. You lose yourself to nothingness. It robs you of your joy, of sincere smiles, of laughing out loud. Depression takes away your friends, your will to live, it hurts your family, and it tells you that you will always be broken.
But depression also buries you. Destroying you by lacing throbbing aches through your too-tight joints, by force feeding you a congealed lump of disappointment, bile, and self-disgust that clogs your stomach, by lodging a stabbing headache behind red rimmed eyes that haven’t slept nearly enough. Depression rips taste from your tongue and rubs your skin raw leaving it tender to the touch. Even hugs hurt so much that your body shakes and threatens to cave in as someone moves lovingly around you.
Depression makes me forget who I am. It steals me from myself. It tells me I will feel like this forever. Depression is an illness that does everything in its power to deprive you of a life worth living. Depression does its best to drown you in inconsolable disease. It is a dangerously persuasive sickness. But no matter how long it empties words from my mouth, smothers my spark, and tells me everything would be better if I just stopped existing, I’d like to believe I will always, always have enough hope to keep going.