Confessions Of Those Depressed

Muscles of my face have readjusted.

It has somehow forgotten to be happy.

Even smile shows drooping lips,

As if it has been ages since sun stroked my skin.

Fatigue strikes at slightest exertion,

Difficulty getting out of bed.

Even sleep comes hard,

Disappointments playing in head repeatedly.

Used to sleeping with a dull throb in head.

Being awake makes head heavy,

That tries to shut my eyes.

Fighting it off is tiring.

Craving to hear familiar sounds,

Desperate enough to speak no sense,

Desperate to talk, to be involved,

To be heard, to be fixed.

How evil it is, to spread the gloom

To spread it to the happy, satisfied ones

On brink of crying,

Always swallowing the urge.

Trying to be okay,

When I am not.

Something cutting me from people.

Crippling me, something beyond lack of confidence,

Something life threatening,

With heart racing and anxiety kicking in,

Making me shiver, cold and miserable.

Uncomfortable in my own skin,

Embarrassed and ashamed.

Pitying myself for always asking for help, to fix the broken.

As if others got nothing better to do.

Waiting for small compliments to make my day,

Waiting for approval.

What a desperate way to live life.