Nothing about my depression is 'haunting' or 'beautiful.' Depression is something you want to hide—you stuff it down your throat as you frantically try to find a distraction, until that point when everything bubbles up and you barely want to exist anymore. Depression is losing will because you can’t conjure up a good enough reason to do anything. Depression is failing to find a reason to want to be conscious and to get out of bed. Depression is not washing your hair for days. It’s not brushing your teeth. It’s wearing unclean clothes. Depression is eating. It’s eating so many...
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