You think you see me. On the days that are good, and the world is okay. The days where a smile no longer feels like a chore, but rather an uncomfortable change. A smudge of happiness in the universe of normalcy. The day is not dark, and I am not cold. The days that I worry you may actually see me. I don’t want you to see the real me. I don’t want you to see the scars, I don’t want you to see the fresh cut from last night, and I don’t want you to see how afraid I am. I’m afraid that you know, and I’m afraid that you’ll judge. You think you see the real me, but the real me is afraid; I'm always afraid.

You think you see me. On the days that are dark and normal life just seems like a joke that I'm not in on. The days where my excuses run thin: sometimes “I don’t feel well” and “sorry I’m just tired" become not just routine, but thorns at my side. My bedroom is my sanctuary, but also my burden. Death. I see it everywhere, as it sings sweet songs and promises of a world without crushing emptiness.

No more pain or suffering. Bliss.

No more pretending. Freedom.

My eyes are red and puffy, and there is no escape. I scream and cry but no one can hear me. “You’re always tired, all you ever do is sleep”, “you need to stop being so sad all the time”, “just get over it”. You don’t understand, I am trying. I am trying so hard, but that's not something you'll ever see. But my heart and soul are weary, and the battle seems far from over. You think you see the real me, but the real me is tired. So tired.

You think you see me. On my normal days. The days that consume the majority of my life. The days are grey and long. They pass by like blurs on the driver mirror on a long, narrow road.

I feel nothing.

I feel everything.

I am drowning in an ocean of my own thoughts and I don’t know how to stop. I glue on a mask with a smile because no one understands.

There is no reason.

I am just sad.

I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I don’t know how to be better. I wish I knew how to be normal. I wish I knew how to be a good friend. But right now, the only thing I know how to do is survive. I need your help more than anything.

This is my life. This is my burden. This is life with depression. I am not some super model crying in the arms of her super sexy boyfriend with glimpses of light in the future. My life is dark, and I am cold. Depression is ugly, and it destroys everything. My life is in ruins around me and I have no plan to properly tackle this challenge. Rebuilding is overwhelming. I just want to sleep.

You think you see me, but do you?