Depressed Poetry Novels & Stories

I slow down when I enter a small dustbowl town and creep through at twenty-five miles an hour as the speed sign dictates. I’m sleepy, and a few hours ago, a sense of melancholy descended. It happens from time to time. It’s another reason I fight. When you’re someone like me, there’s nowhere to go for depression. Hell, I don’t need some fucking head shrink to call a spade a spade. My wiring is fucked up and fighting cures all my evils.

One would say that she was my conscience but I believed her to be my real self waiting to be unleashed from the cage I had her constrained in. When your eyes fill with tears and your throat gets tight. All you have is your suffocating thoughts, no light, no people and no place to escape. You are alone and you know no one can save you. You can’t do anything but think. You are your biggest hope. You just lay there at night and swallow your thoughts even though you feel like vomiting everything out. Yet, you can’t. That’s what depression feels like. Depression is like a black room with no door. There is no escape! They say that after a while you get used to the pain. You don’t.

(Asher’s POV) I took a long cold shower while tuning a loud uplifting music—a routine I would always do when I’m down. My mother said that feeling depressed and anxious is okay, it was a sign that you’re thinking about your well-being, but the moment it passed the threshold where it’s supposed to be and started devouring your mentality, that was when you should put it to a stop. Because of that, cold shower and uplifting music are my muse to put a halt to these depressing feelings.

"Yes, Perer. If you would mind telling me, please do." "Today, I thought about my depression and how it has been eating me slowly. Do you know what depression is?" "Yes I do," the therapist replied. "Well," I continued. "My depression has been feeding on me slowly. It has taken total control of my body and it is washing me away. Today, I heard the sound of the drum in my bedroom. The sound was not sharp neither was it clear. It was just there. It was from the sound of the drum that I learnt how long it takes for someone to die before he realize he is dead."

It is more like a glimpse of shadow when you see the face and that's all it is. "Depression is not caused by having too much given too little time . It is caused by acknowledging too much given too little space to store". I could easily tell Mathews's story and I might even tell it well, add filter there and there, brush some scenes and polish each word. But it won't be genuine for it'll be from my point of view. It won't be his anymore. You'd be reading my story but with an additional character in it. So I believe I should hand the mic to him.

Drowned in betrayal. Suffocated by despair.

Fish floated belly-up in poisoned streams, their scales dulled to the color of ash, their eyes clouded with the same despair that had consumed my soul. The skies wept ash, leaving every face hollow with despair. The grey snow that fell was not the clean white of winter but something putrid and wrong, carrying with it the stench of decay and the whisper of hopelessness. It settled on rooftops and fields like a funeral shroud, transforming the landscape into a graveyard of what had once been beautiful. Crops withered before they could be touched, fields curling in on themselves like dying animals. I could see it from my vantage point high in the mountains.

What if I never saw Noah again otherwise? I texted back: Please. Just let me see him. Don't make me choose. No reply. Of course. Depression settled like fog, thick and suffocating. I felt it in my chest, heavy, making every breath an effort. The vineyard blurred through tears—the place we'd built together, now crumbling. I was depressed, bone-deep. No energy to fight, no hope to cling to. Just this endless ache. The kids called from inside: "Mama! Look!"

This was not good. I was scared, I was really scared and I just wanted someone to tell me everything would be ok. I just want to be hugged, and held sincerely, I'm ashamed to admit that I wished for death to consume me, simply to end my misery. I haven't cried for a long long time. My depression had simply eaten away at me and drained all my energy so that I had none left to portray my emotions, but as I sat there in the gardens of my prison, all alone and vulnerable... I wanted to cry.

He no longer had the energy to lift his spirits up. Thinking of the memories between them, he felt like his heart had been slashed by a knife. He did not have the energy to manage the company anymore. Every single day, he drank himself into oblivion, allowing the depression to take over his mind. Gradually, rumors about him becoming dispirited started to fester. Even the media was shocked. There were all kinds of assumptions.