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Depression isn’t just a mental illness.
Depression is losing yourself.
Depression is leaving the house without taking your antidepressants and wondering if it’ll tip you over the edge and in to the deep abyss of a mental breakdown.
Depression is “I’m sorry I can’t come out today but the very thought of seeing another human is making me feel sick to my fucking stomach.”
Depression is “No, I’m not ready to talk about it right now, but thank you for offering anyways”
Depression is being so scared that you’re gonna push away the only person who means anything to you that you become too much for them to handle so they leave anyways.
Depression is the risk of also being a sufferer of its sister illnesses.
Depression isn’t beautiful or romantic or poetic. It is dark and deep and endless and bigger than all of us. It steals your life like a thief in the night and coats your existence like inches of snow that block you from leaving the cosy comfort of your own home because after all, nothing can go wrong in your safe place.
Depression is doctors and psychologists and psychiatrists and nurses and hospitals and waiting rooms and tests and notes and books and paper and leaflets and information and websites and white coats and antidepressants and questions you don’t want to answer.
There is nothing inspiring about depression, in fact that whole concept is the very opposite of inspiring. It is sickening and endless and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy in the world.
"- (via th4storysofar)
ed has no girlfriend because sheeran away
Literally best joke ever.
(via ugly)
