literature

Depression

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ImHereForTheDrarry's avatar
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Literature Text

So often is depression romanticized as something bittersweet and beautiful; presented as something that it easy to be rescued from by a boy who will come over in the middle of the night to hold you, or else call you over the phone and soothe you with calm and loving words, that I often wonder if people really understand what it's like to have this disease of the mind.
It hurts.
A vast emptiness that seems to numb your entire being, except your heart. Your heart aches with feelings so pure and unrelenting that despite all the anguish you can't help but be reminded of how utterly alive you are, and God, doesn't that just hurt more. The pain and sadness is emphasized so much by the harsh beating of your heart and the burning lump in your throat and the sting of the tears you try so desperately to push back that it's overwhelming in it's excess.
God, it hurts.
To have this voice in the back of your mind, whispering painful words to tell you you're not good enough to amount to anything – that picks out your flaws and tells you that this is all the world sees of you – that makes you keep your head down and say as little as possible, because how could anyone like you for the mess that you clearly are? Every laugh you hear is one directed at you. When you see someone looking at you, it's not because you have a nice smile or even a passing glance, it's because you look stupid in the clothes that show off your figure, and you're so ugly that it's hard not to stare.
Something I wrote a few days ago while having a particularly bad mood-swing.
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RainingWaddleDees's avatar
Holy god wow good stuffs