I know what it feels like to die.

I know that sounds harsh

And you might think I’m talking about sickness

Or injury—No

The death I’m talking about

Is the slow kind

The kind that goes on for years

And every day

You’re less willing to fight it

You’re less willing to hide it

And every day

It gets worse

And worse

Until

You can’t leave your bed

You cancel your plans

You lose all your friends

They didn’t really like you anyway, did they?

That’s what your mind says

Your mind is a torture

Saying you’re not worth it

Saying you’ll never amount to anything

Saying you’re better off

Dead.

This is what I mean when I say

I die

All the time.

Depression kills you

Slowly.