A lot have expressed depression in forms too true to be written. So I’ll skip that part.
I am, in a way, depressed.
No urge to elaborate.
Would only like to add that its perhaps the 15th time I relapse. Only this time it took me a year and a half to do so. My longest so far. So proud was I when my skin became one. When all my days were roughly a 10 out of 10.
Most days, that is.
I slowly begun to realise that my legs were being dragged towards the office. My room darker than usual at 3am. My constant sleep during daylight but lack of it during midnight. A mans touch, regardless of who, got colder, firmer. Their smiles all the same.
Only I’m the one fabricating it.