When depression hits,
it hits hard.
I’ve been dragged down by many things,
but my own mind does it the best.
It constantly tells me it loves me,
builds me up
says I’m the best
only to tear me back down.
My mind finds some sort of sick satisfaction
in breaking me beyond the normal low.
What have I done to deserve this
that is my own.
Don’t tell me I deserve this,
I know I deserve better.
I know it…
Maybe better for others
isn’t better for me.
Have I done anything to warrant love?
I don’t appreciate enough.
It’s my fault really.
It’s my fault.
I deserve this.
Of course I deserve this.
This self-deprecation is only needed
because I haven’t learned to be modest enough.
Only because I don’t try enough.
I’ll praise myself when I’ve earned it,
not just for getting out of bed in the morning.
I don’t deserve any more or any less.
This is how I love myself;
this is how I hate myself.