I'm off my meds. By now I can see the warning signs as they come. The sleepless nights, the early morning sunrises and late night battles with my mind. The nightmares, the tosses and turns. The short naps that turn into hours of dense unconsciousness. A growling stomach reminding me that my body needs fuel, but eyes that are disgusted by the sight of food. Fighting back tears, staring emptily at my ceiling for hours, willing my heart to please stop beating. Angry parents because I've forgotten my shoes in the living room. Again. They've been there for a week.

Have I showered recently? I can't remember. Warning signs, right, check, check, and check. Oh, good. The sun already?? I just went to bed. I'm not comfortable, I could probably get up. But sleep could be pretty nice.. I could try that. I'm tired. Too tired, my eyes won't close. Hmm. Ceiling it is.
*the moon rises*

How long have I been like this?

The warning signs, right. I see them. I know what they are. Do I care? I haven't decided yet. It seems so easy to ignore them, so easy to forget that a world revolves around me. I'm stuck in my head, my body a prisoner to the demons that have forged their way from the darkest corners of my mind.

Am I breathing? I think I forgot to, my lungs are screaming at me. I'm so tired, my chest too heavy for my lungs to lift. Maybe it's better to let them deflate. Once and for all. It'll only hurt for a little bit right? Pills would probably help.. Perhaps I let my soul ooze from my open veins. I can do it. Vertical right? It's efficient? I think so. Where's my razor? F*ck. It's in the bathroom. Ten feet, just across the hall, that's so close. I can do it. I can. I want to. I'm so tired. Ten feet. Okay, I can get up. You can do it, up. Stand up. Off my bed, ten feet, the bathroom, and peace. Oh how I want peace. Come on, stand UP. Mmm. I'm so tired. Am I still breathing? Hmm. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh, another sunrise. Did I sleep last night? I can't remember. Okay coffee, I have stuff to do today. Crap, I have stuff to do today. Okay. Shower, look pretty, smile, work, act happy. Sure. You got this. Jesus this is exhausting. Another coffee. Here goes nothing.

*slice*

This is me nearly every time I go off my meds for depression. Too tired to think, too tired to move, too tired to breathe. My bed becomes my best friend, but the kind that takes advantage of you and always puts you down; the kind that you really don't enjoy being friends with but continue it anyways because it's what you're used to. My mind keeps going, refusing to stop even for a second, convincing that I hate myself and my life is worthless. Deep down I know it isn't; deep down I actually love my life and everyone in it, but I can't stop myself from desperately wanting to end it. Swerve my car into that median, jump off this stair way three stories up, starve myself, cut my wrists, overdose.. The possibilities are truly endless.

The truth about suicide and depression is there isn't always a sign. It's stigmatized and faked and mocked for not being real that we put on the greatest show our loved ones will ever see. We give them the us they want to see--a happy person while we hide the urges to cut, the troubles sleeping, the complete and utter lack of interest in life, and the tormenting thoughts behind a facade so no one else will have to know our pain. We know we're loved, deep down we know it and we cherish it, but we can't always help feeling hopeless anyways. It doesn't happen automatically in some glorious 'AHA!' moment; there is no instant consumption of sadness or turning point. It's progressive and deafening; the longer you let it go, the worse it gets. The thing about depression though, is that for many it only gets worse. Sucked so far into the twisted, demented darkness of their minds that the fight for life is simply too much. They've hidden it, ignored it, denied it, and fought it for so long that the real possibility of lifelessness becomes their safe haven. It isn't selfish, it's survival. Their sanity has been lost to their illness and society crucified them for it. Their loved ones? Yes, they'll feel pain. They'll cry and beg and try to understand, but it's a difficult feat to do if they aren't just as twisted as the one they lost. They'll be angry at their friend, or sibling, or parent who 'gave up', but they won't see that giving up didn't cause the casualty. Losing did. Losing after a lifetime of battling their own soul.

You see, depression isn't just a case of the blues. It's a lengthy and bloody war that can only have one winner. So that anger your feeling because your loved one was too selfish or 'gave up'? I understand it., I do. I've been there. But I can also tell you as someone who has fought suicidal thoughts and urges for years, that they did consider you. They considered you and every other person who's life meant something to them, and it's because of you that they made it so long in the first place. It's because of you that they fought as long as they did, but the mind is a powerful tool, and sometimes we aren't fortunate enough to be equipped with the skills to combat it. Sometimes we lose the battle, and sometimes it's all we can do to try and hang on.

I sit here and am terrified to finish writing this. I'm terrified to let my family know how bad things actually get for me, how bad things can really be with depression. I've mastered my happy face to the point that anyone who reads this and knows me probably won't believe that I go through this, but I know I'm not alone, and I know it's time people start to realize how damaging mental illnesses can be, even if the general public refuses to notice them.