I have been depressed for more than half of my life.
I know the voice of depression intimately, and I wear its low timbre like a dark cloak.
This voice discriminates not, affecting all in its path equally.
It is a silent whisper – the cry in the dark night that no one hears.
The invisible tears hidden by a plastic smile. You know the smile – the one that doesn’t quite touch the eyes.
The slight hesitation just before the quick nod that they are ok.
The intense longing for a reassuring human touch.
The text asking for a small favor, trying hard to mask the air of quiet desperation.
The sound of your heart shattering when the text goes unanswered.
It is the wracking sobs when the dam finally breaks and your body falls into pieces.
The inability to leave the comfort of your cocoon as your heart slowly dies.
It is the disconcerting realization that you will never be the same again.