Depression is trying to heal me since my birth,
Like a therapist who wants me to grow,
but chose the hardest treatment for me.
Overthinking is part of the procedure,
daily sessions with my own thoughts,
no rest, no pause.
It says pain will make me stronger,
that breaking is necessary before growth,
but I am tired of being broken again and again.
This therapist is cruel,
not because it hates me,
but because it does not know mercy.
Inside, I feel dead already,
moving, breathing, but empty.
So I wish that when the final therapy comes,
at least it comes peacefully.
If I must leave,
let me leave with one smile—
one moment where the therapist looks at me
and says, you endured enough. 😊
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