Depression isn’t drinking coffee and shaky hands holding a cigarette or writing poetry late at night. It’s not sleeping in cold Winter mornings or a bookstore visit where you meet the love of your life and they somehow put the broken pieces back together with a smile. Depression is staying home all the time sleeping for 4 days in a row. It’s greasy hair because you haven’t showered in a week. It’s not eating or eating too much. It’s tear stained pillows and trash covering every inch of your room because the thought of cleaning it makes you feel sick. It’s a pill when you wake up. It’s like slow traffic in your brain you want so desperately to get out of it, you want to find the nearest exit but you’re stuck. It’s therapy every Wednesday. It’s telling your friends you’re busy when in reality you can’t handle the thought of leaving your bed. It’s a report card with all failing grades and trying to explain to your mum that you’ll do better next time when you both know that’s a lie. depression has his own sounds, own sky, not everyone of us can touch Trust me.
