Depression is not cute.


Tell me something...

Why do we live in a world that is currently being invaded with the trend that having depression is cute?

Listen.

There is nothing cute about having depression. There is nothing cute about not wanting to face your reflection in the mirror because then you'd have to stare right into the eyes of the vital force causing the agony in your mind.

There is nothing cute about being absorbed by the constant fantasy of how you'd make your own heart stop pumping life through your veins, veins filled  with rue and failure.

There is nothing cute about despising every inch of your body, every blood cell, every particle, until the hate consumes you and all that's left is an empty shell in the form of a human body, completely stripped of anything that makes you feel alive.

There is nothing cute about being overwhelmed by the deafening silence in your head, screaming gloom-ridden words, echoing out of the deepest, darkest corners of your mind.

There is nothing cute about having a pernicious influence over yourself just so you can feel something closely resembling being alive, because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.

There is nothing cute about being so devoted to your despondency that it ends up defining who you are and along the way you lose who you were supposed to be. Who you wanted to be. And all you do now is look at yourself with contempt.

There is nothing cute about depression.

So why are we extolling it?

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