The room

The Room

Depression isn't always crying on the floor.

Sometimes it's a clean room,

and a messy mind.

Sometimes it's laughing in the group chat,

then going quiet for hours.

Not knowing how to describe what you feel

It's heavy.

Not like sadness,

like gravity.

Like everything costs more.

Getting up costs more.

Answering texts costs more.

Smiling costs more.

You look okay,

so people think you are okay.

And you don't have the energy to explain

that you're tired —

but not sleepy.

Empty —

but not hungry.

Here —

but not really here.

Some days you fight it.

Some days you just let it sit next to you

on the bed,

because fighting takes strength

you don't have.

Burdens you're tired of carrying

Weigh you down like they own you .

It's in the way music sounds different now.

The songs you loved feel far away.

It's in the mirror that doesn't look like you,

and the future that feels blurry

when everyone else sees clear.

It's scrolling and scrolling

and feeling nothing.

It's wanting to be held

but not wanting to be touched.

It's saying "I'm fine"

so many times you start to wonder

if anyone would hear you if you said you weren't.

But listen —

The room can be cleaned again.

The mind too, slowly.

One small corner at a time.

One window opened.

One message answered.

One breath that says, I'm still here.

If this is you right now —

You are not lazy.

You are not dramatic.

You are not broken beyond repair.

You are a person carrying a heavy thing

that no one else can see.

And even if it doesn't feel like it today,

heavy things can be set down.

Slowly.

With help.

With time.