You Are Depression

You scream but no one hears you.
You laugh to cover up your agony; why can nobody tell how fake it is?
You smile a smile that feels like a grimace, but it must pass off okay because no one rushes to your side.
You feel ashamed of your own weakness.
Your eyes are open but they might as well not be, because the colour is leeched out of everything.
You look in the mirror and see a stranger. A stranger who looks like a dead girl. She terrifies you. You cannot see yourself anywhere in her grey features. The death in her eyes is the death of yourself.
Who are you now?
You are empty. A shell. An automaton going through the motions of blinking a breathing, but not really knowing why.
You are mentally ill but your mind is you, so every piece of you is defined by your illness.
You are shakiness and panic attacks and lethargy and fear and despair and apathy and hollowness.
You are depression.

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