"I'm tired," I say,"That's all."And in a way, I guess it's true.In every other way,It's a lie.Tonight you ask meWhat depression feels like.I think, then tell youThat it's sort of likeSlowly clicking up a roller coaster hill,Waiting and waiting to peak,But never reaching the top.You seem confusedBut don't ask anything else.Soon enough you're gossiping aboutHow that girl we know got pregnant.You don't understand thatI am still climbing that godforsaken hill.People call me heartless,Robotic.I wonder if they realizeHow difficult it is to functionWhen you're not sure if you even exist.And here I am,Dodging your politely, forcefully concerned gaze,As you ask me what's wrong."I'm tired," I say,"That's all."I wish I could explain depression to youOnce again and scream aboutHow I wish I could feel anything.Do you really want to know what depression is like?Depression is like having a disinterested corpseSkillfully stowed in the shell of my body."You seem so sad lately.Can't you at least pretend to care?"Oh, honey, if you only knew.You ramble on about this and that,But I'm no longer listening.You could dig for centuries And never strike my dying core.And THAT, my innocent, naive fool,Is what depression feels like.— @urfav-4rt1st
