These days blur together as my thoughts run rancid with echoes of the past.
This house feels empty–the one I constantly dwell in.
I am fooled by perfect pictures and filled with smells, sights, and memories that
remind me of a better you.
Now, it is cold, dark, desolate–a hateful place so imposing and untrue.
I wrote this poem during one of my lowest points in the pandemic. After several weeks of depression, I discovered how resilient the human mind is, as I suddenly woke up and realized just how deceiving depression can be. Depression can make it seem as though the past is better than it really is. It can make it seem as though there is a more idealized version of you to be had when there is not. When you finally recognize the trap of depression, you feel set free.