Depression is eating. It’s eating so many Strawberry Pop-Tarts in one sitting, you feel heavy and slow. It’s not eating for days, and feeling empty and hollow. It’s both, it’s over and over again, it never stops.
Depression is sleep. Too much, and way too little. You’re always tired—not from the lack of sleep—you’re a weird, unknown type of exhaustion that sneaks into your life and somehow, without you noticing, becomes part of who you are.
Depression is constantly apologizing to people you love for who you are.
What part of this is beautiful? What part of this is mysterious and brooding and exciting to be around?