Drowning
I'm drowning.
When I breath in, my lungs yell in complaint as the thick, unbreathable air floods them,
They try to reject it but no matter what happens, I'm still left breathless.
Depression is a burden I have to carry everyday.
It isn't easy.
I'm not the only one who struggles to keep afloat.
(t isn't an uncommon thing.
There are people drowning all around us in their own ocean.
It's like you've fallen off the boat, your foundation for life.
The fish, the thoughts, they know when someone has fell in and they're quick to surround you.
Small voices swim around you, feeding you disgusting pieces of rumour's.
“You're an annoyance.”
“Worthless.”
“Can't do anything right.”
And if that wasn't bad enough,
Being underwater muffles all that you can hear, distorts it.
And that makes the bitter into something a little more sweet.
Alas, the whisper's are not the only one's cheering the ocean.
I am too.
My voice echoes:
“No one will miss you.”
“You can disappear, nothing will change.”
“Everyone you love will be happier.”
The seemingly unreachable surface taunts you with light, flickering down upon you.
JUST out of your reach.
A false sense of hope.
The voices raining down from above don't help either.
“Just be happy.” is the equivalent of “Just swim up.”
“Don't be depressed.” is the equivalent of “Stop drowning.”
Eventually, you start embrace the coldness.
The darkness hugging you.
If you stay in its vice like hold for long enough,
You'll just give up.
Start sinking down towards the sea floor,
Where there already bodies littering it as if they were just wrappers.
And really, that's what people can become.
Empty shells.
The previous tenant having of moved out, leaving depression to destroy the place.
The further you sink down, the more pressure you can feel build around you.
But then.
Your ears pop.
Sometimes, you just have to sink low enough to finally be able to hear clearly.
The bitter sweet words that both you and depression used to feel the same
But now.
Your senses cleared.
They are heightened and you are able to see the venom leaking from the words,
The toxic relationship that you are in with the cursed illness.
You can taste the acid that you have been swallowing.
And you can decide to stop it.
Pry away from the clawed grip of the sadness and swim back up.
Reach up, push that hand upwards to knock anything that stands in your path away.
There is going to be someone who grabs your hand.
To help.
Don't let the wrong hand pull you away from what matters.
You.
Copyright © Nora Seregina | Year Posted 2016
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