A Day With Depression

Reads: 230  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Wondering what it's like to live with depression? Well, that's all this is. A day in the perspective of someone with depression.

Submitted: August 07, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 07, 2017



Warning: Content may be triggering for some or disturbing for others. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE AT RISK. GET HELP IMMEDIATELY. I am not glorifying suicide or self-harm, but only trying to raise awareness for depression. Read at your own risk.


The clock on my nightstand reads 2:30 AM as I awake from a restless, dreamless slumber. I lay in bed, the sheets twisted around me, too exhausted to get up but too restless to sleep. My body aches as I toss and turn violently. However, like every single day, every single second, my body feels like a void-filled shell. I am just flesh. Nothing beneath it. In the pit of my stomach, the only feeling that resides is a slight burning, constantly there, crawling up my throat endlessly. The room around me is pitch black, the only light coming from the glow of my clock. I let out a sigh and a groan, my thoughts beginning to wander. Or are they even my own? Is it just the voices of anxiety and depression? It is impossible to tell the difference. They both sound like my own voice. So I listen to them. What else can I do? They constantly remind me of my mistakes and flaws that caused me to fall into the abyss, spiraling forever downwards. Hope is only a faint memory, nonexistent in my life. Every day feels the same. I have no sense of how long I have remained in bed. Days? Hours? Minutes? I will never know, nor do I care to. For no reason other than my own weakness, I begin sobbing uncontrollably. How stupid I am! I'm weak and I have no place in this world! I'm a weak idiot! I have nothing. I am alone, left behind to be consumed by my pain. I gain the courage to stand, lumbering to the dark bathroom. Relief flows through my body as the blade glides across my arm, warm blood dripping down my skin. But what's the point of this? The relief is temporary but my pain is permanent. So I drag the knife across my neck, slicing my throat open. I scream as I do so, the pain excruciating. However, the pain is quickly replaced by relief as blood rushes down the front of my body. My legs give out and I collapse, passing out moments later. Death is imminent, and with that, my escape.

© Copyright 2018 Emsy. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


More Non-Fiction Short Stories