Depression is a real entity. Do you know how when you lie in bed and you hear the front door open, you know who walks in? You know who is home. Your mom, your spouse. You know if it's a stranger. Depression walks in the same way. It does not announce itself. He walks in and looks at you and you know that "it's time". And you hate him. You know him and he is comfortable. You long for him in those moments when you have writer's block. You long for him in those moments when you are not strong enough to pull the knife across your own wrist.
You hate him when he tells you what people say behind your back. You hate him when he dangles the gun in front of your face at 2 a.m. And you know it is a fleeting moment, but you know all it takes is him being right. What if he is right? You already have blood on your hands. You already know that all he says is true. You know you are worthless, but when he is there... dear G-d; you sink but what a beautiful empty hole you sink into. What a lovely emptiness. In the arms of something that lets you be broken and understands your pain. He lets you paint your hurt. he lets your write your fears. he doesn't judge. he lives just so that you can get to that dark place. That place where no one can touch you. He eats lunch with you when no one else wants to. he sleeps at night beside you while the TV is on and you watch BBC until the alarm goes off. He waits while you figure out if you can go to work. He tells you that it's okay if you don't go. He will sit in bed with you and he will remind you why they don't want you there anyway. He sits with you while you cry, and he explains that if you cry it out then you will feel better... but there's no end to it. There's never an end.You should go for a walk. Thankfully it's raining so you don't have to. You should eat. Oh look, the stove is unplugged. Too bad. You should do something. Who the fuck are these people who do shit?? How do they get up every day? I DON"T KNOW!!!
He leaves. And you are again boring and somewhat sane. He had his fun. If he loses you, he loses his best friend too. He walked you right up the line where the thoughts just swirl. You literally cannot hear other people talking because he won't let you out of your own head. But he can't afford to lose you. Not this time. Suicides are up, and that's not what he really wants. he just wants a toy. You are his distraction. You are what creates his greatest art. He can't do it. He can't write or draw. he can't build. He just walks around in rags all day begging for a little life. He is a parasite. A beautiful haunting parasite that is your best friend. And you hate him. And when he leaves, you become the person who travels, who laughs, who spends all her money on food and dinners, and life because all you really want is to hold onto a life. The color. The sound. The laughter. And all you really want is the good best friend who will let you sleep. Let you eat. Let you not bleed.
But you too are a cancer and a parasite. He tattooed that on your brain years ago.
