I struggle with depression from time to time and I wrote this poem in my journal a couple nights ago about how depression makes me feel like victim sometimes. I know I’m no poet but I thought I’d share anyways

The Hole
When can I come out
of this hole I stumbled in?
I promise not to pout,
To scream or to shout, and 
I’ll make sure to come back without a grin.

I’ve been here a while, much too long,
But I promise I do not blame you,
for you did nothing wrong.
I slipped in thoughts I hadn’t planned and slid along the path.
I tripped into the depths of you, grasping at the morning dew.

I didn’t fight or brave the dark.
I sat so still with musings a fire,
days or nights I cannot tell, each time leaving their mark. 
I couldn’t see, I certainly heard, I couldn’t feel,
save for an endless tire.

Though now I ask a simple thing, 
that I could be granted a leave.
I want to hear the birds and see some green,
and swim in water with pure delight,
but those things I cannot promise I would not grieve.

I’m sure I’d dote and forever yearn, 
of things I’d see and miss again.
I’d sulk back into throes that burn,
but I’d still ask with a trembling plead,
just when can I come out of this hole I stumbled in?