Who we really are ?

isn’t drinking alcohol and shaky hands holding a cigarette

or writing poetry late at night.

Though that’s possible. Unless myself.

It’s not sleeping in cold mornings or a book store visit where you meet the love of life

and they somehow put the broken pieces back together with a smile.

Depression is staying home all the time and sleeping for 4 days in a row.

It’s dry skin because you haven’t showered in a week.

It’s not eating.

It’s tear stained pillows and trash covering every inch of your room

because the thought of cleaning it makes you feel sick.

It’s a pill when you wake up.

It’s slow moving traffic in your brain

you want so desperately to get out off it you wanna find the nearest exit but you’re stuck.

It’s therapy every Wednesday.

It’s telling your friends your busy when in reality you can’t handle the thought of leaving your bed.

It’s a report card with all failing grades and trying to explain to your mom that you’ll do better next time

when you both know that’s a lie.

“Please somebody help! Listen to us .”

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