*Disclosure: This is a short story I wrote to personify depression. I wrote it because I wanted to see if it was like this for anyone else and it’s different. Thank you for taking the time to read this.*

This place is so familiar. Yes, it is my home, but something is so… different. It has a type of feeling that doesn’t resemble the nostalgic feeling that you’d know was your home. This small, cozy home with only four rooms.
Each room, each inch of the walls, is drenched in this energy and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach begins to sour as I remember this place. It was here. It has been here for as long as I remember. Festering and growing. Such a sickening compilation of enigma and darkness. Feeding on my heart and my energy and poisoning my mind. I fight it and fight it, but its grip on my throat keeps me from protesting further. It robs me of the riches of my being and undoes years and years of work. It laughs at my destruction.“You are nothing. You are nothing more than a waste. A lazy, pathetic failure and a waste of space.” It growls as it chokes me. I struggle to free myself only to have it throw me into the wall of my living room. “You’re better off dead. I stumble to my feet, struggling to keep my balance. Wiping the blood from my hands, I cried, “Lies! I can beat you! You won’t win this time.”
It smirked and chuckled coldly.
“You can never beat me!”
It lunged at me with all its force and slammed me into the wall, my feet dangling.
“This place is your true home. You’ll always be here with me. Give up. It’s easier than fighting me because you know all of what I say is true”-
“It is not true!!!” I yelled as best I could.
It’s grip continuously got tighter and tighter on my throat.
“It’s. Not. True.” I squeezed the words out as best I could. It fights furiously in my chest and in my mind. It fights for dear life, fighting to be a part of me.

I’m on the verge of quitting. I’m so near defeat. I’m so exhausted. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of struggling to even get out of bed each day, knowing that today is yet another battle. I’m tired of its face. I’m tired of its voice mocking me as I’m merely just laughing with my friends. I’m tired of it taking me away from the people I love. I’m tired of it destroying me; I know I can win this battle. I know I can destroy it, but the future is so bleak and my bones are so weary. I want to collapse to my knees. Let it boast in glory as it consumes me for the last time and paint my world a brilliant crimson. The final act to this play. No more fighting. No more destruction. It would be over…
“You can never dissuade me! You can never end me! I’ll fight until my knuckles are their bloodiest because I know this won’t last forever. I can beat you. I can and I will!”
It frowns in disgust.
“We’ll see.”

When it leaves for a brief moment, I drop to my knees and fall apart. I sob into my palms.
“What progress have I made?” I whisper to myself. I remind myself why I’m fighting. I’ve been a prisoner all my life. I’m fighting for a smile that stays. I’m fighting for a day when I don’t have to force myself out of bed and paint a smile. I’m fighting and fighting for life…
A soft warmth envelops my fingers gently and shakes them.
“Jacob? Oh, Jacob?”
A voice as smooth as butter snaps me out of my daze. I look around, remembering I was outside of my therapist’s office. Her secretary held my hand, firmly enough to wake me yet gentle enough so as not to hurt me.
“You okay, sweetie?” Her eyes, usually soft and warm, expressed such worry that she could’ve been mistaken for my mother.
“Y-yes, Miss Dale. I was just… thinking.”
I stood up. “Can I go in now?”

She stopped me and looked into the windows of my soul, one of the few people who knew my words weren’t always true. She searched every part of my expression. I only looked and smiled.
“I’m fine. Believe me.”
She looks at my face in its entirety and smiles earnestly.
“I know, pumpkin. I know.” She proceeds to hug me warmly, her squeeze on me much tighter than mine on her.
“I know it’s tough”, she told me as she held me out in front of her, “but you’ll get through this. I promise.”
I tear up and she lets me go. I walk into the office in pieces, hoping to one day leave in one piece.


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