my depression used to control me

this is just another poem based on my past, i keep writing different versions trying to get it right.

My depression used to control me.

I gave up trying to stop it.

I just dealt with it, rode through it in a current of emotions mixed with emptiness.

My tears stopped falling when my blood started running down my thigh.

Late at night when my thoughts turn dark, my eyes well up with tears that refuse to fall.

A razor blade held lightly in my hand, as I looked at what I had done to myself.

I didn't try to stop my depression, my craving for the pain I caused myself.

I just... Put up with it.

Stopped caring about what I did.

I got up at 10am after a long sleepless night.

Cold baths at 3am, blood mixed with water.

Some nights I didn't sleep at all, and trust me it sucks.

Bags under my eyes, energy drink in hand, skipped meals, fogged mind.

I didn't give a s**t.

I don't know when I decided to get better, but I started caring about what I did.

Every cut was a massive set back, every hour overslept.

I still didn't cry, I lost that privilege a long time ago.

Tears... I told myself tears meant weakness.

But... How did I convince myself that cutting was okay when I wouldn't even let myself cry?

Crying is the most innocent thing I could have been doing.

I admit, recovery is hard.

I didn't see myself as someone who could recover.

I miss my depression in a way, I miss the cutting, it scares me when my scars fade a little.

But I remind myself quite often that I will be fully recovered one day.

Depression never fully goes away, it haunts a dark corner of your mind, hidden away for years on end.

I am still recovering, I'm not always happy.

I have my days where I am depressed to the point that breathing feels like a chore.

But I'm okay, I have the support I need.

I am recovering, and I am finally living again.

Author's Note

as usual let me know your thoughts, and feel free to check out my other poems!