A/N: To all the people who feel like life is suffocating you, to you I say, I'm like you as well. Everything is a distorted perception when you're dealing with depression, everything is trying to kill you and suddenly death feels like a more welcoming option. To the people who don't feel this way, don't automatically assume it's a problem that can be solved with a snap of a finger. Sending us to therapists and doctors will only accelerate our thoughts of death, that won't help. We won't say or show that we need help, sometimes all we need is someone to care about us.

We may push you away but be patient with us because we feel everything on a deeper level than average people do. I'm going through the darkest stage of my life and this has inspired me to write this one-shot and I hope anyone who's reading this are able to gain a better understanding to people who are also going through the same thing.
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Have you ever felt like you were drowning? The asphyxiating sensation burning down your entire system, destroying your mind while your heart was so desperate to live one more day as it thumped violently against your ribcage.

There were so many things you wanted to say, to show but as time dragged on, you felt like your existence in this world was no longer important and you’ve already lost count of the times you’ve imagined your death. Each one more grotesque than the previous ones.

Lying was the easiest thing you could do, putting a mask of happiness to trick the people around you into thinking you were happy. You lied because you didn’t want people to know how much you were hurting on the inside but life was full of irony and contradictions because deep down, you wanted someone to care.

Depression.

Everyone took lightly of it, they just think it was a simple mental game anyone could beat but you knew better. You were more experienced at this than average people. It’s like living in a body that fights to survive and a mind that tries to die. Sleeping doesn’t help much because it’s not your body that’s tired—it’s your soul.

On some nights, you cried and you howled but no one heard because they were all drifted away by happy dreams in their own worlds while you fought the demons in your nightmares. You cried because you are you, being so unhappy with yourself that you became a time bomb, a tool of self-destruction ticking away to find the relief you so desperately sought after.

The 3AMs.

The caffeine.

The nightmares.

Everyone around you made note of the dark circles that accumulated under your eyes, asking you how you got them to which you replied the deprivation of sleep. Get enough sleep! They said. Think of something happy!  They said.

As someone famous once said:

‘You can’t sell dreams to the ones who walked through nightmares.’

They forgot that nightmares are dreams too. What you see in reality is reflected in your dreams so it doesn’t really make any difference if you were awake or asleep, you’re still tormented and restless. Being trapped in your own mind is far scarier than being locked up in jail or a dungeon, there’s no lock or key. Just darkness swallowing you whole slowly.

You just lay there all alone in your bed in the dark and staring up at the ceiling, questioning your life if you were destined to live it this way. People around you branded you as hostile, cold and expressionless but what they didn’t know was that you were trying to save them from yourself. The human heart is a monster, that’s why the ribs serve as a cage to prevent it from hurting everyone around. Especially one that’s as black as yours.

Depression is like a cancer, there are no warnings. There aren’t any medical reports or results that would make people come running over to you in concern. It’s like living in a solitary confinement in hell, just your name on the door as you slowly erode yourself like acid into nothingness.

Behind that smile, lies a broken soul. Waiting for someone, anyone to see the real you. You barely kept contact with anyone, not even your own parents. The reason was simple, their words hurt you beyond belief. You had expected them—the ones whom you’ve spent your entire life with them, to understand your current state of mind but the betrayal was so great you broke down as soon as you were out of sight.

‘Mum… Dad… I have depression…’

‘Don’t lie just to get attention! You’re a big girl already so act your age!’

‘But—‘

‘Don’t talk back to your parents!’

The people who created your existence rejected you, with no one to depend on, you succumbed to the demons inside you. No longer putting up a fight as your depression took a turn for the worse, kicked up another level as you found the demons inside your head more reliable than your dear ones.

You made yourself bleed, to see if you were still alive and breathing. The pain was a reminder that you were still in this world but it cannot be said the same for your broken mind, there were more scars in your mind than the ones you could count on your body. Each cut represented the amount of people who didn’t didn’t care you enough to stop you and so far, it was still going.

You were too far gone to register anything happening in the real world, even if World War III broke out, you wouldn’t care anyway because you already lost the war in trying to regain your own sanity so what difference does it make?

You smiled bitterly remembering their words, they cut deeper than any knife, drew out the essence of your soul more than anything could. Nothing beats the sharp human tongue and that was the reason why people said: ‘Words cut deeper than any blade.’

What the hell was growing up in the first place anyway? What does it mean to be an ‘adult’?

Can the scientists explain that? Of course they can in terms of biological explanation but did anyone care to explain it psychologically and emotionally to people like you? Does it mean the process of ascension from a child to an adult?

Who was it who destroyed all your dreams and threw them down the drain?
Who stained your once pure heart with black ink of sorrow?
Who tied the noose around your neck?

Who did it? Who can you ask help from? What were you supposed to do?

You already know.
It doesn’t matter anymore.

Oh the irony of life, it made you want to laugh at how dead inside it made you feel. Even death feels like a welcoming option as you remembered the posts your friend had posted, one of them stood out to you more than the others.

‘Why do people hate you?’ Life asked.

‘Because you are a beautiful lie and I’m the ugly truth.’ Death replied.

It was true and you believed in it. Life was a beautiful lie to people suffering from suicidal depression like you, what made them think that it was so easy to move on from your current place? It was like drowning and choking on air, the quicksand of your mind pulling you deeper into the abyss from which you would never return. Despite everything, a part of you hoped that someone would see you and save you from yourself.

The cutter glinted a beautiful crimson in your eyes under the light, new wounds overlapped the old scars like medals decorating a veteran soldier’s chest. Pain became an addiction, to keep you awake from the traps in your nightmares.

You were about to cut another one when you felt a hand on yours, looking up to see a blonde standing before you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. ‘Don’t.’ He said. Something inside you stirred but the demons inside wouldn’t give up on torturing you of course, your mind was on a road to damnation and you always thought yourself beyond redemption and you never bothered to stop what you did.

You called it ‘The Devil’s Basement’, it was your personal hell really. The memories and words are the torture tools and the demons that lived in your mind are the ones responsible keep you as insane as possible, letting hatred and regret flow through your veins. How ironic was that it was you who created the traps, the demons and everything.

‘You deserve better.’ He said. ‘STOP!’ you yelled and dropped the cutter, covering your ears a