DEPRESSION

I am the happiest man alive. Everyone knows me. They say my name easily. They wave before I arrive. Laughter gathers where I stand as if rehearsed.

I belong everywhere. I remember birthdays. I ask the right questions. I make rooms feel chosen. People leave lighter after meeting me. They tell others I am exactly what I seem.

What they do not see is the private architecture. The careful sealing. The inner chamber where joy is stored improperly.

There is a weight beneath the smile. A warmth that has gone wrong. Something organic, busy, feeding.

I keep it well hidden. Public delight requires maintenance. Charm must be polished. Silence rotated. I stand intact. Admired. Undisturbed.

Look closely and you will find no warning signs. Only the inscription I leave behind in every room:

I was happy. I was known. I was beloved.