A presence I now see, stretching through the years past.
But it took time—time to see, time to process, time to accept,
To name the weight I carried, the fear I face, the pain I’d kept.
I didn’t want to be “ill,” to wear badge like a name,
The whispers of stigma ignited my shame.
It was passed through generations, silent and cold,
“Pull yourself together,” the mantra of old.
I recall the moment I broke my own seal,
Admitting loudly the depths I could feel.
Seventeen, high school, more chaos at home,
Parents divorcing, I’ve never felt so alone.
The spiral continued, a tumultuous phase,
Panic and anxiety weaving their maze.
Overdosed nights and drinking to my pain,
Searching for solace but still finding the same.
Depression—its shadow I know so well,
Yet its depths and its edges I still cannot tell.
How do I explain it to someone who’s free,
Who’s never known this relentless pain within me?
When the word escapes, it lingers in the air,
Met with silence, discomfort, or efforts to care.
People may turn, or they’ll awkwardly say,
Something to soothe or make the gloom go away.
But here’s the truth I’ve come to embrace:
Depression’s a monster that shifts in its place.
Relatable, yes—but defeatable too,
Each step forward proves what I always knew.
It’s not weakness, but strength, to fight and to heal,
To face what is hidden and speak what is real.
I’m still learning, still growing, but I’ve made it through—
And so can you
#Mentalhealth
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