Poem (I lived in the first century of depression)

I lived in the first century of depression.
Most days I was incapable of getting out of my bed
I would wake up feeling lost
So lost that it felt like I was waking up to do the same thing every day.
No matter how bad I wanted to get better
I’d still end up in the same dark hole I’ve been trying to get out of.
I couldn’t handle my own thoughts knowing that everything I thought of seemed to be negative
I gave up thinking I was made to live this way.
It’s something no one wants to talk about
Ya’ know since it’s sensitive and attention seeking
But is it still attention seeking when you no longer hear from me?
I lived in the first century of depression.