There was a time when I stopped caring,
Existing, robotically living,
Just eating, breathing, drinking. Repeat.
Sleeping to waste away the hours.
As awake was unbearable.
Depression is a funny old thing,
It has many monstrous guises,
Morphing from the grey nothingness
To crucifying you with hateful images.
Back again to the empty void,
Before tricking you with a glimpse of happiness.
Repeat and shuffle, then repeat some more.
They give you medication,
A panacea for the soul.
Tell you to go to therapy,
As if sharing will help to heal.
It doesn’t. The therapists are morons,
Using jargon and psychological chicanery.
Trying to change my cognitive behaviour.
Or coming to some miracle answer,
Which lies in the past.
I wish they could just give up,
Realise I’m broken, I can’t be fixed by them.
Just let me exist. Let me be numb.