my friend

This, is my friend.
My friend is one of my best.
Best because my friend is always around.

No matter the time or day, my friend is here for me when no one else is.

My friend has all the time in the world, mostly because time is abstract, whereas my friend is not.

When I wake up, my friend is there.
When I am asleep, my friend is watching over me.
I am never alone for my friend is right by my side, you see.

When I am happy, my friend is there. When I am sad, my friend is also there.
At my best times, at my worst.
My friend is here to stay.

My friend is not a person.
My friend is not a physical object that can easily be seen or heard.

My friend is a thing, but that thing is my friend.
My friend has no traditional birth name, nor do I know their origin.

My friend is named one word, not three.
My friend does not have a first name, middle name, or even last name.

My friend has a name that is one word, and their name is depression.
My friend is known to be a feeling, but I do not know how true that is.

Even though depression is my friend, I think of them as something unfriendly. A virus.
My friend is a virus.

My friend is there when I awake from slumber because they keep me up at
night.
My friend gets in the way of my sleep, but in return they give me gifts.

My friend gave me bags that hang under my eyes.
My friend told me everybody has these bags, but wanted me to have more.

My friend gave me saltwater, from the ocean.
My friend told me the ocean has plenty of saltwater, so they thought it was okay for me to have some.

My friend gave me insecurities.
My friend told me they keep me from becoming a bad person.
With my insecurities, I will never think I am better than another person, and thinking such things is not compassionate.
That is not what my friend would want.

My friend gave me weights, but not the kind that you lift to gain muscle.
My friend gave me weights that reside in my chest, they put them there inside for safe keeping, I was told.

These weights are very heavy.
The weight of the world is not on my shoulders, rather it is in my chest.

These weights do not hurt, but they do not make me feel good.
Sometimes, I want to dig them out.
I want to rip them from their flesh barrier, freeing them of their sentence.

Depression introduced me to a lot of new things.

My friend taught me how to see the world in grayscale, to take away all of the bright colors nature provided for the world and replace them with black.
White.
And grey.

My friend taught me how to have self hatred.
It sounds not good, but my friend insured me it was common, that it would help me understand everything in the world.

My friend taught me how to control my emotions.
My friend showed me how to remove all sources of happiness and replace them with a black hole.
A black hole, sitting in my chest sharing space with the weight of the world.
Inhaling all feeling and emotion from my mind to the hole.
I don’t think I have felt content with things for a few years.
My friend says that is okay, and I have trust in my friend.

I trust my friend with my life.

Sometimes my friend attacks my insecurities without warning.
My friend told me that it is to toughen me up for the outside world.
For those who will try to knock me down, I must stand tall and mighty.
My friend cares about me.

The saltwater my friend gave me is never enough, they insist on providing more and more.
My eyes, restless and red.
Empty, restless, and red.
I accept the saltwater because my friend really likes it.

My friend taught me how to write.
My friend helped me write this, in fact.
My friend can help me type what I am feeling, but not often speak the words I type.
It is not as easy to speak them than it is to type.
I attempt to speak out often, but I am left frozen because my friend does not like that.
My friend has done so much for me.

My friend taught me how to look down.
How to look down on myself, and how to look down a five story tall building.
My friend told me I am as light as a feather, and that the wind will carry me to a magical place.
A place of wonder and aw, a place where my friend says I belong.

My friend taught me how to say goodbye.

Depression taught me how to leave everything behind.
Depression taught me how to lift my right foot off the concrete, and to let the wind take it away.

I do not feel light as a feather.
I do not feel weightless.
The sky is not coming, but the asphalt is on its way, sending it’s regards.

My friend is so thoughtful.