I'm not allowed to be depressed

Becareful now. Don't misread my words. 
It's just a reflection of how I see the world. 
I'm not trying say, that you're the same, 
That simply choosing to get out of bed, will mean you've won the game. 

I'm mearly saying for me. My world isn't in my control. 
Right down to being depressed. I get no say at all. 
I'm not saying I'm not sad, though that vastly understated. 
Depression is misunderstood, everyone is saying it. 

I suppose you could say I'm functionally depressed. 
But I swear that's only, cos others get me dressed. 
It doesn't change my head, the thoughts, the desires. 
But I have no ability to sit and cry in the showers. 

If it were down me, if I had the control. 
I'd barely have a shower, or leave the house at all. 
But that's the irony of, this old life of mine. 
If I were capable of the task, I doubt I'd want to do the crime. 

External relief is a far flung dream. 
One I've had in great detail, I can vividly describe the scene. 
I can feel the release of the blade at my skin. 
I'd cut deep enough, to see why muscle begin. 

I often wonder if, inability fuels my thoughts. 
It's human nature, to do what we haven't done before. 

So as I write these words, and i picture the knife. 
Thinking of the ways that I can't end my life. 
I have one favour to ask, the answer to a question. 
Do I have, what you'd define, as this thing called depression?