Art of Depression

I’m not okay.
I’m going crazy, nothing seems real anymore. I’m creating new messes out of old ones that have already been tossed in the garbage and taken to the curb a long time ago but I don’t know how to stop myself from spiraling but it also feels never ending like I flushed myself down the worlds largest toilet and I just keep spinning and spinning around and around and I can’t ever just stop long enough to take a breath and I — sigh.
I just forget how to breathe sometimes.
“Just breathe.” they say, but how? I’ve forgotten what it feels like to just breathe. Maybe I need someone else to breathe life into my lungs because I just can’t do it anymore, I’ve relied on my own self for too long and brain gave up on body left it stranded in dust and dirt, frozen in ice and chipped away to bone and nothingness.