Here is a poem i had been working on and just finished. Enjoy 
It’s not sadness. It’s not even grief. It’s rage. Pure, stupid, animal rage that no one talks about when they talk about depression. I wake up angry. Angry that I woke up. Angry that nothing’s changed. Angry at the people who love me because I can’t feel it the way I used to. Angry at myself for still caring enough to be angry. I’m tired of every emotion being extremely loud. Like my body doesn’t know the difference between panic and heartbreak, between love and shame. It’s all just noise now. I’m drowning in it. There are moments quiet ones where I think about going back. To using. To numbing. To something that at least makes it feel like I’m the one choosing the pain. And the worse moments where I wonder if I should just stop everything. Pull the cord. Step off. Not because I want to die, but because I can’t keep feeling like this. I don’t want to be dramatic. I just want peace or quiet or to be empty without being afraid of it. But instead, I’m here. With a body that won’t quit, a brain that won’t shut up, and a heart that keeps clenching its fists even when I ask it not to. Some nights, I survive by minutes. Some nights, by seconds. I guess that’s something. But god, I’m tired and no one tells you how much it hurts to keep trying when you’re not sure what you’re trying for anymore.