Just something to keep in mind...

Depression is a commonly thrown around term, that, like so many other overused words, has somewhat lost it's meaning. Yes, there is feeling 'depressed' at times, which is a normal enough human emotional state. Real depression, however, is an altogether different monster hiding under the bed, ready to pull one into the darkest of abyss.

Some would say happiness is a choice. In some ways that is very much true. In others, however, I must wonder just how much choice a person does have in the face of certain things.

Depression is much like falling from one's wavering balance on a tightrope into the dark and seemingly endless abyss gaping below. The darkness engulfs it's prisoner almost completely, only the tiniest speck of light left to be seen. A tiny glint to mock, it's laughter 'oh, so cruel' could it be heard by the average person's ear.

Depression is a heavy blanket of melancholy that settles over one's bed. Though one may push and fight, sometimes this coverings weight is far too heavy to move. The semi-transparent cover allows life to be viewed as if through a veil. A spectator to a life not really lived by the prisoner trapped in the jail of their own mind. This is not by choice. Who would choose to live in such a daily hell? Though I suppose Apathy is one of Melancholy's best of friends.

Much like a broken marionette, one lays there, staring at the frayed and broken strings. Laying there, fantasizing of how nice it would be to just fade into the nothingness of the universe. To not have to struggle, to not have to feel the pain anymore. To move takes a strength of will like that exhibited by the heroes in the mythic tales of old. The will to do anything lies in broken shards, reflecting what could be, but most likely never will. There is a reason, somewhere to care, but it is elusive, much like the flutter of butterflies wings in the wind.

Melancholy, Apathy, Loneliness... the only 'friends' to stay, feeding off the tears that are held at bay as one tries to be strong and hold the torrents in. Life is a series of battles. Some won, some lost, casualties of self often high. Like a ghost one walks through the world, shrouded in the darkness only they can see.

This is not written for sympathy, a cry for help or any kind of crap like that. I just hope to maybe shed a little light on the understanding of such things so that if you know someone who is clinically depressed, you don't say silly things about how it will all get better or it is all just a choice. Only a true masochist would choose to live in their own personal version of some hell. I believe statics would support that most people do not fall into that personality type. Just kind of keep that in mind, please. Sometimes a kind gesture or a simple hug means more than words ever could.