Depression

Depression is not
Rain and romance
And sadness and poetry;
It is not beautiful.
It is horrible;
It is ugly.

Depression is
Sleeping non-stop
And letting
The to-do list
Grow and grow.
Depression is
Forgetting to eat;
It doesn't matter anyway.
There's no point
In caring for the body.
Depression is
Not showering,
Not getting dressed,
Not bothering with the effort
Of caring for one's appearance.
Depression is
Isolating oneself,
Ignoring messages,
Wallowing in loneliness,
While pretending to be okay.

Depression is not
Rain and romance
And sadness and poetry;
It is not beautiful.
It is horrible;
It is ugly.

Depression is
Feeling nothing
And knowing inside
That one should be
Feeling something.
Depression is
Knowing something
Is terribly wrong
But not knowing
How to fix it.
Depression is
Helplessness,
Panic, and fear.
Swirling around
Within the nothingness.
Depression is
Agony, crying out,
Beneath the numbness.
Breathless beneath
The ceiling of insomnia.

Depression is not
Magic and meaning
And art and mystery.
It is not beautiful.
It is evil;
It is a monster.

Too Much

It's too much.
Too much to do,
Too much to worry about,
Too much to deal with.
It's too much for me.

I can't.
I can't do it all,
I can't handle the stress,
I can't cope.
It's too much for me.

If I had more time,
It would be different.
If I had more money,
It would be different.
If I just had more,
It would be different.

I feel myself breaking,
On the verge of giving up.
It's too much;
I'm overwhelmed,
I'm frustrated,
I'm struggling.
And I don't know how to cope.

I can scream out into the world,
But it wouldn't make it better.
I can cry out for help,
But nobody will hear me.

How do I do this?
Why am I not good enough?
What's the point anyway?
How do people do it
When it's all too much?