"The Key"

An incredibly touching spoken word poem about depression, By Allie

This was Allie's first venture into to the world of spoken word. Simply amazing.

She's been dealing with depression and anxiety for years, but always kept it to herself. Eventually she realized that keeping these struggles a secret was only harming her, and thus this poem was written.
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A little more context, from the poet:
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The hardest part about writing this poem was deciding what to include and what to save for later. It turns out it wasn’t until I decided not to be silent that I realized how much I wanted to say. 

That being said, this poem isn’t about a lot of things. Mental illness is a huge topic, and 5 minutes is not a lot of time. The following isn’t really about society, or stigma, or many people’s misguided notions about what mental illness infers. 

It is simply the story of one young women with depression who realized that the walls she built to protect herself were only harming her, her choice to knock them down, and the freedom, understanding, and hope she found on the other side.

Allie is seriously an inspiration. If you want to follow her or see what she's all about, I suggest you delve into her blog: Finding Joy In Suffering

Lyrics for "The Key"

The Key
 
Depression.
Is lying. 
It’s me telling you I’m fine when inside 
I’m dying, 
Faking a laugh just to keep from 
crying.
Rest assured,
this inability to move is NOT 
from LACK of trying.
 
I try to explain but your words are denying.
“Happiness is a choice,” 
“You’re not trying hard enough,”
“Cheer up,”
“You have nothing to be depressed about”
 
No one would choose this. 
I’ve been fighting for 5 years.
I wish it were that easy.
And I know.
 
That’s the problem.
You don’t see
The demons,
Or hear
the lies,
Or feel 
the weight
That’s crushing me inside. 
Because I hide.
 
We say:
When did our society decide to ignore 
This disease of the mind?
When did our default
Become believing the “I’m fine?”
When will we all open our eyes
And cease being blind
To the life behind the mask 
and the hurt behind the laugh?
 
Or maybe?
We should stop just saying “I’m fine.”
Maybe we must choose to stop our own lying.
Maybe it’s not you, but me who’s denying.
Sure sometimes I hear words 
that do anything but help
to soothe the pain,
But maybe you could learn 
if I only tried to teach.
Maybe the problem isn’t you, 
Just maybe…it’s me. 
 
Which is why I’ve decided to tell you what’s real
I’m hurting
I’m struggling
Sometimes I’m suffocating
But maybe all you need is a little education
Maybe I feel alone because I’ve decided not to let you in
Maybe you’ve approached my door, 
and I just haven’t opened. 
Maybe it’s not you, 
Just maybe, it’s me. 
And maybe everything would change, 
If I just showed you my door’s key. 
 
 
The hard truth about depression
 
On the worst days, 
Depression is nothing at all. 
It’s a fog clouding my every thought and emotion until the fog is so thick I can’t breathe. 
I can’t find a way to break free. 
I’ve become dead 
Inside
no more alive than my grandma
….
Only she is now free
and I’m not. 
I’m trapped in my room
Which though once filled with light and life
Is now darker than the cells of prisoners
Only they are alone
And I’m not. 
I’m stuck with this demon inside. 
Depression is possession. 
I’m just an object 
owned by my mind’s lies. 
Obsession. 
These thoughts race around in my mind until I’ve become blind. 
I can’t look ahead so I turn to behind. 
To the past.
But there, everything was a mistake,
Every choice I make
Each chance I take
Was wrong
Is wrong.
Regrets,
Never ending streams of regrets 
Flowing faster than the water rushing down my face
as I shower,
trying to erase the inadequacy with the dirt. 
hoping this sound will 
will drown out and replace
the whispers 
that embrace
surround
and suffocate me
Only the dirt washes away,
And the shame doesn’t.
 
On the best days,
I forget
Depression even exists
I’m more than ok.
I’m not just trying to survive.
On these days, I thrive.
Because I truly feel alive.
On the good days, 
I forget the demons
And ignore the lies
And fight the power that tries to crush me inside.
My bedroom is not my prison cell 
but my personal sanctuary
I’m no longer trapped inside,
But able to run free.
On the best days, 
I don’t feel controlled by this terrible disease
Sure it’s always there, 
and you could say it is part of me,
but sometimes even I forget that
mental illness is not an identity. 
 
But in my fear that I’d be judged,
scorned,
Or looked down upon.
I built walls around my insecurity,
And hoped they would protect me.
Instead of a shelter, though
I built myself a prison.
 
Eventually, though,
I realized I could no longer stand to live alone.
 
Which is why I’ve decided to tell you what’s real.
I’m hurting,
I’m struggling,
Sometimes I’m suffocating,
But maybe all you need is a little education.
Maybe I feel alone because I’ve built walls so high you can’t get in.
You have knocked, but I chose not to open. 
I was the one ignoring you, and not you me
And I’m hoping I can make that change, 
By revealing my door’s key.