I felt i need express this feeling so i made this litle poem:
The Depression knocked on the door, entered and sat down.
What do i do? Who knows.
Now it’s inside me. Isolated…and it grows.
The mood and the will power are by a thread. Why?
Reasoning tells me that I have to be strong. He says to me in the morning: - do not cry.
Do you feel the same?
I did feel the same for a long time, but anti depressants off and on make me feel good enough that I can’t be depressed except for short times. Mostly I like feeling better. When my feet hit the floor in the morning there is very little mercy from myself but a lot from elsewhere.
Antidepressant only thing helps me, it gives the inclination to feel better, then ‘elsewhere’ and myself does the rest.
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