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I Never Thought of Ending It

But I knew my depression was getting bad again.

When I woke up on that fourth day of wearing the same t-shirt and grey sweatpants my boyfriend had left behind at my house the week before.

As I lay in bed with the thoughts surrounding me and the odor from that shirt.

I never thought of suicide.

I knew my depression was getting bad again.

When I lacked the energy to step inside the shower.

Instead, I washed my greasy hair in the kitchen sink with the harshest shampoo I owned to rush out the vibrant blue color I had put there on a better day.

As I watched the beautiful colors fade with the water down the drain.

I never thought of suicide.

I knew my depression was getting bad again.

On that third day of not being hungry, merely sipping at the black coffee struggling through my school work.

When my sister came and sat beside me and placed a plate of warm food beside me, patted my shoulder, and left the room knowing it would only be thrown away when she went to bed.

Still, I never thought of suicide.

I knew my depression had hit it’s worse, on that day I joined my family for dinner, drinks, and a silly card game.

Surrounded by my family, laughing and smiling, eating more than I had during the week. Looking to everybody that I was out of my slump.

That was the day I thought about suicide.

When within their smiles I could still see the sideways glances at me whenever I took a bite of food.

When the night was over everyone hugged me and told me they loved me.

When I realized it hurt too much to keep the fake smile glued to my lips when all I wanted to do was curl within my darkness.

Depression is exhausting, but for me manageable when I am allowed to be as I am.

When forced to pretend that I am not sick is when the seeds of doubt become poisonous climbing ivy threatening to twist itself around my throat and draw me to the dark where her roots thrive.

When forced to wear a painted face covering the nights where sleep ran from me as if it were a wolf hunting down the moon. That’s when the face beneath it began to crack.

The mind can be a terribly torturous place, but it is my home.

I am happiest when allowed control of my own curtains.

When forced to let in the sunlight is when I am most in darkness.


Recommended1 Simily SnapPublished in Contemporary Fiction, Personal Narrative