Depression is a dj. Not only that but a director and a producer. A writer of lyrics. A master mixer. A brilliant organizer.

Depression is a prolific genius.

Depression will study quietly in a corner. Sift through every interaction in your life organizing them. And then he lays down tracks. Beats that will bring you to your knees. Loud enough to drown out the world. And the lyrics. They are so relatable they must be gospel. They sound like a cruel truth to be heeded.

There was a time I was angry for existing. A time I was desperately clinging to existence yet believing God must have made a mistake allowing my birth. Small moments here and there I have to remind myself I have a right to this breath I breathe. That I am worthy of air. This is where the record screeches to an abrupt stop.

I know there are a thousand hours of tape I could listen to and have listened to. I’ve broken dozens of the records that have tried to kill me. I’ll never break them all but I’m trying. One episode of depression at a time. Eventually, I hope the remaining records sit on a shelf gathering dust.

I may not be able to fire depression but I am learning how to shut down the show.