Written from the heart of one struggling with depression.
Some days I lack hope.
Some days the weight of it all is simply too much to bear.
Sometimes a random, unpredictable concoction of words will be the trigger,
Sending me from my okay self into a seemingly everlasting downward spiral.
It may start as a bother, as a fleeting painful thought,
But then it returns, growing more pressing with each pass through my now-panicking mind,
And I find myself having to make a decision:
Do I flee in hopes of escaping to freedom
Or do I bow up and fight like every instinct in my body urges me to do?
As I make the decision that will release me from my burden I realize that I can do neither,
For how can I when the aggressor is my own mind?
Such is my internal state --
Reason and instinct wrestling, rolling hither and tither about my mind --
When I break out the mask that will adorn my face until either the offensive or defensive side of the ongoing war concedes.
Time serves as the only teller of that surrender, be it hours, days or weeks.
And so I function as a shell of my captured self, having been stolen by the demands of this conflict,
Holding the mask to my face at all times.
If it seems like I'm not okay --
If it seems like I'm "tired" or "quiet" --
Just remember that even the lightest things become unbearably heavy after enough time has passed holding them.
And if it seems that around you I let my unmasked self come up for air,
Know that it's because I trust you enough to love me anyways.