Depression wipes my tears as he chokes me so sweetly close to death. He releases and allows me to take a breath. And repeat. And repeat. And I hyperventilate this time when he lets go because I forgot how to take in breaths slow. My body won’t stop shaking as I pace the room. All my panic shouts at my lungs as they refuse to calm, as they refuse to fill. I think of all the times I have apologized for shaking. All the times I explained that “I’m fine. It’s normal. I’m okay.” Then I gasp and stop. I stop trembling and I hold my breath until I inhale silently. Exhale and the feeling of emptiness in my chest rises.
Depression chains me to my bed so that I can’t move. I sit still. Too still. As part of me remains trapped in my body, my soul feels like it’s gone. I am half alive and half dead. I think of all the times I have regretted not being there for someone. Hurt someone and felt nothing, but later hated myself in every part of my being for being such trash. For embodying the devil’s spirit as depression laughs at me. He tightens my chains.
Depression hands me a blade. He’s screaming. He’s screaming and he won’t stop. I can’t breath. I’m shaking. I can’t stop shaking as my hand shifts, the blade tears open my skin. “Oh my God Mommy you promised they would help me,” as I watch the blood leave my body. “Mommy you promised they could help me,” cut after cut after cut.
Depression grabs the blade and pours alcohol over my body. I scream in pain. He applies pressure to stop the bleeding. He laughs in my face as he says not yet; we are just getting started.