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October 13, 2017 • Manasvi Chauhan • Female • 20 • Pune

Tumblr* lied.

There’s nothing beautiful about depression.

Hear me out loud and clear

when I speak about this in agony sheer-

depression is not a melancholy song

or poetry flowing free celebrating the wrongs,


depression is a cry for help

that never even materialized into a yelp,

just sitting there,

gripping my esophagus hard,

piercing my mouth’s insides

with its shattered shards;

depression is that one story

I want to release and flood the world

but it only leaks as stutters

and stammers weakly hurled;

depression is my dirty secret,

the skeleton I waltz with in my cramped closet;

depression, my friends,

is a lot of things

but it’s never beautiful.


Last Monday night, I couldn’t sleep at all

but the following Tuesday,

my body just refused to fall out of the bed-

anxiety was keeping me awake but resignation wanted an eternal slumber

and the number of times

the monsters would sneak

into my sleep

and seep into my already troubled dreams

is a different tale altogether

and that is not beautiful.


I’d sit sprawled on the off-white floor,

my chest heaving against the shut bathroom door

as my body would reject the one morsel

I had managed to push down my throat;

and yet, sometimes,

I would have six meals a day,

junk food making its tainted way

to my churning stomach,

hoping to fill the void

that was simply hell-bent to stay;

I would be lying amidst crumpled potato chip bags

along with smelly, unwashed rags my clothes had become

and that is not beautiful.


I would pick out strands of my hair,

pulling them off one by one off my sore scalp-

streams of matted strings

flowing out of me,


out of me

and landing with a noiseless shriek

at my funny strange-looking feet

with their awkward toes

and that chipped black nail color;

sometimes, I wouldn’t shower for days

but then on others,

I’d stand below the pelting spray

for hours and hours

till my skin would become

a wilted mass of battle-scars-

either blue by the frigid downpour

or a raw crimson hue from the scalding bath

and that is not beautiful.


The stained sheets on my bed

would house the torn bits

of my old journals

as I’d doze off

against the fogged looking-glass,

my face caked

with remains of dried tears,

with chewed-off lips aged beyond years

and that

is anything

but beautiful.


I tried hard to make poetic gains

out of my not-so-poetic pain

but only vague rhymes and incoherence

were what tumbled out of my mind dense

with overgrown vegetation

of clashing thoughts,

sprinkled generously

by weeds of uncertainty

that sprang up ten at a time,

often more;

and only after scores and scores

of crumpled paper balls

hurled by me

at the harmless barren walls,

do I finally halt my unrelenting assault

as the realization finally dawns-

deep inside,

we all know,

us- poets and writers

and painters and fighters-

we all know our art cannot play much of a part

when it comes to mending the seams of our bereaved hearts

but so what?

We are still allowed to try and hence, that’s what we do without ever questioning why.


Depression is never beautiful

but we want it to be

and so we try,

hell, some of us even stumble and die

in the process

but a few somehow linger on

to the hope that maybe

-just maybe-

what’s happening to us

is not all that bad;

it’s beautiful, in fact,

and if we can get ourselves to believe the act,

maybe it’d stop hurting like it does.


Depression cannot possibly be beautiful,

I agree,

but oh- I so wish it was.

Maybe, the ache would be worth it all then.

Or maybe not.

I suppose we’ll never really know.

Cuz even though it could have been,


is not beautiful.


* Tumblr is a microblogging and social networking website that allows users to post multimedia and other content to a short-form blog. Users can follow other users’ blogs.

TAGS #acceptance #depression #mentalhealth #poetry #socialmedia #talking healing