Depression is quiet. It isn’t found in the words we say, but in the ones we choose to bury. It is the hollow "I’m fine" we give to the world after another night of tossing and turning, waiting for a sleep that never arrives.
It lives in the fake smiles we save for our mothers, because we can’t bear to be the ones who finally break their hearts. It is the questioning look from a friend that we pretend not to notice, and the way a dog pushes against your leg, confused by why you feel so far away even when you’re right there.
The world has lost its saturation. The walls are various shades of gray now, and the reds that used to burn so bright have dimmed like a dying flame. I see it in the lonely eyes of my sister and the constant, raging glare of my brother, who seems to have forgotten how to do anything but fight.
There is a lump in our chests that won’t go away. It sticks to us, weighing as heavy as wet cement. With every step, we feel it shift in our hearts, swinging us off balance and making the world feel tilted. I see it in the soft, broken eyes of my boyfriend, watching as his smile begins to wear thin under the weight of it all.
It’s out there in the world, too—in the endless fighting, the headlines, and the noise of a planet that seems to be burning. It is in the days that sting like a thousand suns and the bitter, thick frosts of winter.
I see it in my best friend, carrying the bruises his father gave him like a collection of unwanted roses, in the empty bottles gathering like ghosts by his bedside and the dismissive shake of his head through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Most of all, it is in me. It’s tucked into the crevices of a shattered heart and tangled around a numb tongue that is crying to escape. It is the invisible chain holding me to a spring-ridden mattress and the looming, unrecognizable reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Depression is quiet, until it’s not.
Depression is simple, until it’s not.
Depression is in anything and everything... until it’s not.
Is there a particular section of this you’d like to expand on, or would you like to explore a different ending for the piece?
It lives in the fake smiles we save for our mothers, because we can’t bear to be the ones who finally break their hearts. It is the questioning look from a friend that we pretend not to notice, and the way a dog pushes against your leg, confused by why you feel so far away even when you’re right there.
The world has lost its saturation. The walls are various shades of gray now, and the reds that used to burn so bright have dimmed like a dying flame. I see it in the lonely eyes of my sister and the constant, raging glare of my brother, who seems to have forgotten how to do anything but fight.
There is a lump in our chests that won’t go away. It sticks to us, weighing as heavy as wet cement. With every step, we feel it shift in our hearts, swinging us off balance and making the world feel tilted. I see it in the soft, broken eyes of my boyfriend, watching as his smile begins to wear thin under the weight of it all.
It’s out there in the world, too—in the endless fighting, the headlines, and the noise of a planet that seems to be burning. It is in the days that sting like a thousand suns and the bitter, thick frosts of winter.
I see it in my best friend, carrying the bruises his father gave him like a collection of unwanted roses, in the empty bottles gathering like ghosts by his bedside and the dismissive shake of his head through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Most of all, it is in me. It’s tucked into the crevices of a shattered heart and tangled around a numb tongue that is crying to escape. It is the invisible chain holding me to a spring-ridden mattress and the looming, unrecognizable reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Depression is quiet, until it’s not.
Depression is simple, until it’s not.
Depression is in anything and everything... until it’s not.
Is there a particular section of this you’d like to expand on, or would you like to explore a different ending for the piece?
