One thing about having depression is when you're having one of your episodes (possibly triggered by some incident or for no reason at all), you don't know who to turn to.
Cos frankly, everyone has their own shit to deal with and no one wants to be around a depressed person. You yourself don't want to bring them down with your shitty mood.
So, you're stuck with you and just you. You and all your degenerate thoughts, festering and consuming. And you just. Don't. Know. What. To. Do.
Is it really worth it? It never really goes away. Every time it just slids away to a corner, waiting to strike again. You KNOW it'll come back.
Is life really worth the vicious cycles, the waking up to someone you hate, the mental fatigue, the tears, the swollen eyes, the crouching in corners, the languish, the suffocation, the loneliness, the feeling of being lost, the unwillingness to wake up to another day, the inability to live with yourself.
Is it worth it? You ask, time and again.
Till one day you just can't take it anymore.
Sometimes it feels as though your family members could have the harshest judgments of them all. It feels as though you're under their judgmental eyes all the time, maybe it's all in your head; maybe it's not.
Are crazy people always happy? For fuck's sake, I don't know why I'm not crazy yet.