I was a grown woman once you found me but I acted like a child. You kissed me on that cracked and oiled concrete staircase when I led you to believe that you were the first and that was only half a lie. The upstairs neighbors heard us fight more than they heard us fuck. My dog growled at you the day you moved in. I should have listened to him then but you rubbed my shoulders when they were tight and you said you were sorry when you weren’t. I was terrible at math but worse at loving you. The walls were stark white and there were too many candles lit. Condoms were disguised as party favors in bright blue bowls. I was surrounded by fire hazards and loyal wives. I rid my body of your child before you knew it existed. It seems silly to me now that I still put you down as my emergency contact. Even the greatest sex will not cure 


and anybody who tells you it will has never really been 



Depression does not discriminate. Depression doesn’t care who you are or what you look like. It doesn’t care where you grew up, or where you live now.  It would like to live there too. Depression will find you, and it will cling to you. It doesn’t care how much sleep you’re missing out on. It’d rather you stay awake with it. It doesn’t care if everyone who knows you thinks you ‘should’ be happy. It laughs in their faces when they tell you to ‘choose’ happiness. But they can’t hear it laugh, only you can. 

Depression doesn’t give a shit when good things happen to you. Depression steals the smile right off your face and threatens never to return it to you. Depression does not care how much money you have or what you choose to do with it. Depression doesn’t see how well or how poorly you fit into your societies beauty standards and it could care less how many people fantasize about having sex with you. Depression doesn’t care how many followers you have on Instagram or how many people genuinely love you and wouldn’t know what to do without you in their lives. Depression doesn’t give a damn how clean your bill of health is or how sunny it is outside your window. Most of the time, depression won’t even allow you to look out that window. 

Depression takes hostages. It transforms your very own mind into a prison and it will not let you leave, even for a second.  It makes you feel lonely, yet keeps you company. It follows you everywhere you go, even when you ask it kindly to leave you alone. Depression wakes up right next to you every morning and begs you to stay in bed with it all day. It tries to convince you to forget about your other friends, that it’s the only one you’ll ever need. But depression is not a very good friend to you. 

Depression gets to know you. It reminds you of all of your bad memories and points your flaws out to you every chance it gets. It makes you cry for no reason and then refuses to help you dry your tears. 

Depression doesn’t care how famous you are or how good you are at making people laugh. Or cry. It is an equal opportunity illness. It doesn’t care what kind of car you drive. Sometimes it will go out of its way to make sure you are unable to drive at all. 

Depression moves into your home with you, but it will prove to be the worst roommate you’ve ever had. Worse than the ones who never did the dishes, and even worse than the ones who had loud parties on weeknights and sketchy drug-addicts coming over all the time. And on top of that, it doesn’t even offer to help pay your rent. Depression isolates you. It won’t let you have anyone over but it won’t let you leave to go someplace else. Depression goes to work with you as well, but it doesn’t help you with your job. 

Depression makes you sick to your stomach and it causes your bones to ache. It forces you to take sick days, but doesn’t help to take care of you when you’re laid out flat on your back, unable to move. Depression closes doors, locks them, then hides the keys from you. It makes you want to sleep and then it jumps up and down on your body when you try. It causes you to forget the lyrics to all of your favorite songs and yells at you to shut up when you begin to hum their melodies. Depression tells you lies and then asks you to lie, too. 

Depression does not try and explain itself. It doesn’t want you to ask for help when help is the only thing you need. It convinces you that no one else has gone through it the way you are right now, and it convinces the others who are of the exact same thing. Depression is not your fault, but it will always try its hardest to make you believe that it is. Depression might scare your loved ones away. It might make you a little bit scared of yourself. Depression will make you feel alone when you are far from it. Depression will affect seven percent of American adults this year. Depression wants you to think it cannot be treated, but it can. It wants you to think that there are no options, but there are. It wants you to think it will never end, but with help, it will.

Depression is a dirty, selfish little liar. Rotten to the core. Insane even. The most important thing to remember though, is that there is one big thing that depression is not, and will never be no matter how hard it tries. 

Depression is not you.