Why My Depression Isn’t Romantic
Depression isn’t wistfully crying snuggled in blankets on a rainy day.
Depression isn’t beautiful.
Depression is laying in a bed covered in dirty clothes, papers and books that you didn’t have enough energy to put away.
Depression is staring numbly at the ceiling.
Sometimes sad, yes, but many times stuck in a seemingly endless trance of feeling nothing at all.
Depression is being too afraid to go out in public because you’re afraid you’ll see someone you know looking like this: three days without a shower, smudged mascara, an old T-shirt and a “bitch face” that makes people think you hate them, but really you’re just done being alive.
Depression is wanting to accomplish things, but always feeling like there is an invisible cement wall standing between you and success.
Helpless. Frozen. Weak.
Depression is the moment you realize the thought of getting out of bed is more horrifying than death itself, and you decide that you would prefer the latter.
Depression is knowing that you have potential to do great things but choose not to because you believe failure is inevitable.
Depression is completely forgetting to eat one day and then completely gorging yourself the next, because your physical health is a reflection of your mental health — filled with uncertainty and lacking in care.
Depression is knowing that you have to wake up tomorrow and face another day with other people who have no idea what you’re going through and wouldn’t care even if they did.
Depression is an electrical pulse of desire to achieve, tied down by the ropes of lethargy and lack of motivation. You’ll do it another day when you’re feeling better.
Depression is invisible.
Depression is inconvenient to those around us.
But depression is real.
It’s not a movie.
It’s not a steamy romance novel.
It’s not a joke.
Depression is being held captive in a prison that only exists in your mind.
It’s hell on earth.
And it’s time it was treated that way.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.
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Thinkstock photo via Softulka