It comes slowly, softly
you don’t realize what it is,
no one talks about it.
We all don’t want to be judged.
“Why am I living?
I am better off dead
I am so unlucky
I am not loved
Everybody’s life is better than mine”
The thought tells you.
You shove it off,
you think you can handle it, you’re so sure you can,
“Put a knife through your stomach,
drink sniper, you are better off dead”
The thought persist
It’s going on inside your head
You have to put a smile so people won’t know
You can’t talk about it
People will think you’re crazy
So you hold it inside, all of it, alone.
At night you toss and turn,
you pick your phone, you scroll,
but no one to call.
“You are better off dead”
The thought comes again.
You answer for the first time
“a living dog is better than a dead lion”
You realise one truth that moment
the answer to depression
but you don’t have the strength to call…
You realise you are a fighter, and an over comer
Tongriang Bakfur is a writer and teacher. she can be reached via:
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