To Be Depressed

I don't know about you,
But some of us know
Depression.
We don't choose it,
We live it.
Because its the only way we know how
To live this life we're in.
Does it hurt?
Does it kill us?
Yes.
But what can we do?
The more we fight it,
The stronger it fights back
And soon, we just get tired of fighting.
It consumes us.
It makes us who we are.
And we have no choice
But to accept it
Or die.

*From the depts of me is where this poem slept. Hope its ok.*