simple

depression is an ocean

My depression is an ocean. It pulls me under angrily some days, and other days its calm and beautiful. At least it used to be....

If it is an ocean, then I've long since drowned. Because the majority of my time is spent trying to swim up, but steadily slipping down.

If it is an ocean, then is it mine alone? Does everyone share these tides, or do they keep their own?

My ocean is rarely calm, its riddled with storms. These monsoons of my invention fail to keep me warm.

Typhoons and hurricanes lately keep me thrashing in the waves. So if my is depression is an ocean, then mine is a watery grave.

I'm either gasping for air just barely above the surface, inhaling half air and half water; or I'm cold and curled on the sea floor beneath the tons of pressure.

I am not sure how it got to this.
I was once upon a boat, it chugged along so calmly while keeping me afloat.

Someone please explain how my boat became this disaster. For these soaked clothes are dragging me down faster.

Shipwrecked or ship abandoned?
Was there a mutiny where I hadn't standed?

This gap is morning fog in my memory. And now there is no one to help me.

So I say depression is an ocean that no one else can cope with. This ocean is the curse of a cold, wet kiss.

This is my ocean and you probably have yours. Maybe we can meet along each other's shores.

I'll meet you on the beach, with sand in my hair. I'll be the one resting in the sun, greedily gulping in the air.

Feel free to meet me there.