The voice of depression is a liar. That voice might sound like yours, which is what makes those hurtful words so much easier to believe; but if you listen really carefully, you will soon realise that those words did not originate with you.
You’ve carried too much for too long. Recognise what isn’t yours and let it go; your life is waiting.
I’m not completely broken, but I am a little cracked,
from the weight of all this bullshit that I carry on my back.
I don’t know how it got there, I’m certain it’s not mine,
but it’s a force that tries to pull me down each time I try to climb.
But I shall not give up. I will not be defeated,
and I will go head to head with the demons I once feared.
Who am I kidding? I’m still scared half to death;
I can feel it breathing on my neck, but it will not take what is left!
I’m not completely broken, although my tears might not agree;
leaving their salty trails as they run away from me.
Or are they running for help? Maybe those trails are a sign?
I’ve kept them hidden, locked away, but they don’t want to hide!
So, I set my tears free, and I notice a curious thing.
The space the tears have left behind have let the healing in.
I’m still a work in progress, I have lots of work to do;
but the lies I’ve often told myself are being replaced now by the truth.
That I’m not completely broken, I’m a fucking work of art;
now I choose to begin my life again, so I can know it from the start