Surviving through depression, is like going through a battle.
You’re dressed in full gear, up to your neck in the trenches,
Waiting for the next bomb to hit.
Some days you’re able to push the constant tearing of your synapses
To the back burner of your thoughts.
You are able to enjoy, to relax, to breathe.
But while you’re taking down gulps of serenity like a fish out of water,
The enemy is scheming, forever conniving, and forever nipping at your heels.
It’s moving in, and you’re a sitting duck.
The backandforthandbackandforth
is a never ending chess game, a tangle of tongues like swords, and words like knives.
Each time the battle is raging forward, full speed ahead,
And you scramble to build up your barricades,
It’s found you.
Each time it’s stronger,
Each time it chips away a little more of your recoveryhopesanity
Each time it takes a little bit more of your soul,
Like momentos from the Berlin wall,
Into the arsenal it goes, ammo for a lonely day.


“What are those scars from?” She asked.
“They’re battle wounds.”
“Who are you fighting?”
“Myself.”

This quote really hits home,
It’s a bullet I take straight to the heart.
Because the constant stain on my mind, on my life.
It isn’t some villain I can defeat,
It’s not a dragon in disguise that I can slay.
It is me.
It’s the person staring back when I catch my own eye.
In fighting this, in killing this misery in my heart,
Am I killing parts of myself??