• dangerous_divaa 23w

    It is sad to see that in this advancing, expanding world, depression is still not regarded as a disease. Somehow, people hesitate in accepting that they are depressed. Maybe 'cause they are made to believe that it exists for the sufferer alone.

    I hereby urge the readers not to ignore depression. It is just another ailment that could be cured. Please do not turn a blind eye to the depressed, they want to be heard, comforted. Share their problems and grief, and help them win, because sometimes all they desire is a little support :)

    #pod @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Depression: A disease

    A myriad of thoughts befuddle her mind
    Which wanders in quest for secluded truth
    Buried under the layers that cover her soul
    She is delving through the skin so smooth

    Amidst all chaos she fails to realize
    The change that's whelming her ambiance
    With every breath she's inhaling the same air
    That suffocates her, mocking her transience

    When she conceives, for a moment she shatters
    She cries but her sobs die before escaping her throat
    Angina grasps her heart, then suffuses her chest
    Wailing in pain, she begs for an antidote

    The heaviness she feels isn't 'cause of heart attack
    As it is not just her muscles that ache
    She tries waking up, but this isn't a dream
    This is suffering, refusing to forsake

    Soon she becomes insensitive to the pain
    That screams from within to be heard
    But she hides it inside, deep enough
    So that the resonating echoes don't let out a word

    She has now forgotten the art of smiling
    And also acts obliviated to everything she adored
    It isn't because of Alzheimer's or dementia
    As she remembers, but desires being lost

    At the same time she yearns someone sees
    What she is going through, all alone
    It is rasping, killing her fragile existence
    But it isn't cancer 'cause the cells aren't her own

    Her sorrows overburden all her emotions
    And she now wears an expressionless face
    Obdurate trembles shake her to the core
    But it isn't Parkinson's as she still knows grace

    "What is it then?", she asks herself a dozen times
    Though a faint voice incessantly mumbles
    "Depression", but she denies to accept it 'cause
    She believes she'll get up before she stumbles

    It is not suffering but a battle that seeks death
    A war within herself, wrenching her apart
    She shuts her eyes, squeezing them hard
    As the struggle throttles her brave heart!