Depression is where it started, the feeling of being alone in the four walls we call home. The feeling of emptiness and loss I felt when you left. My Brother, you were the rock I threw as I wandered in that dark forest I call my mind. It’s black and empty like the doors of hell, before they opened up to me because when you left I saw it. The devil at the foot of my bed, when I lied awake at night wondering if you were coming home. I remembered you left me and all the feelings came back again when you left me, My Brother. From the blood that once fell from my wrist began to fall again,or from the tears that fell from the last time I saw you, before I sat upon your funeral still telling those I love that I’m fine. I’m fine, depression is where it started.
excerpt from a book I’ll never write (via daytime-demons)
