Depression is a long-time friend of mine. I met it when I was 12 years old, by the hands of someone who I deemed my best friend. She destroyed my life at one point. Nevertheless, I have forgiven her, because had she not done the things she did, I would not be who I am today. And frankly, I love who I am.

Depression and I have lots of fights. Some days it sneaks up on me when I’m happiest, like a predator waiting for the right chance to strike its prey, but I manage to run away from it. Other days, it attacks me out of nowhere, and I have no motivation to defeat it. So I let it linger for a few days, I let it destroy bits of me (only for me to reinvent them later), and I let it be a barrier between me and the world. I lay in bed, listening to the people I live with talk about how useless I am simply because I had not had a productive day. That only adds to the amount of sadness I already feel. But each time in this scenario, the cycle is the same. It comes, I let it stay, I get inspired, I force it out. Each time I am determined to be happy, and each time I fail. Still I am proud of myself for standing my ground and facing it again and again everyday.
Depression has also introduced me to some other friends. Death, being one of them. I have never met death personally but I have gotten dangerously close. Anxiety is another companion, telling me all the worst case scenarios in certain situations. And how could I ever forget panic, who has made me fear certain spaces in case it decides to meet me randomly there. 

My own meetings with depression are mostly organized by words. I have food on my table, clothes on my back and a roof over my head. But I also have the misfortune of being born into a group of people who do not view me as much, and who have mastered the art of piercing a heart with words.

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” -Laurell K. Hamilton

So be wise with your words. They have more power than you can ever imagine, capable of making or breaking a person’s life. There’s a good reason why the term “verbal abuse” exists, along with emotional abuse and mental abuse, all of which are done with words.

These days I am trying my best to push depression out of my life, be it for myself or for the people who love me. But it becomes increasingly harder when every time I get inspired, the people I live with shoot me down. I have tried to talk to them, but you cannot talk to narcissists who refuse to believe in what science has proved, and who refuse to even acknowledge a problem, let alone solve it. Abusers are not wired that way. They will twist and manipulate whatever they can to have their way ensured, even if what they’re twisting is a human brain.

I cannot say that I will stand strong and I will not let depression consume me, because I might be lying if I say that, and I prefer to stay away from dishonesty. I have observed the patterns for the past few days, and I have noticed an increased power of depression and a deterioration of myself. So maybe it will consume me. Maybe my I will meet death sooner than I should have. But all I can do now is try to survive what’s in front of me.



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