© everlark

"Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life. It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged."

 
- Depression is not a synonym for being sad or having a bad day/bad week. (via n-e-r-v-o-s-a)

glutyoursoul:

DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS: Beauty Tips for Getting Your Sad Ass Out of The House*

*Leaving the house optional, alcohol obviously even more optional, hangover SUPER optional

There are the times when you are literally incapable of leaving your goblin lair and interacting with other human beings, and then there are the times when you could, conceivably, do that. It’s not exactly that you WANT to, like who can remember the last time you actively WANTED anything, hahaha choking sob, but, you know, it’s possible that you could get out for one night, and it would even presumably be a good idea, who knows, what difference does it make. WELL, LISTEN UP, LIL BUDDY, YOU CAN DO IT, AND HERE IS HOW: WITH TIPS!

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"You reach a point where you cannot cry anymore, and you look around at people you know, at people your own age, and they’re not crying either. Something has been taken. And they are emptier. And they are grateful."

 
- Lorrie Moore, Self-Help

hyperbole and a half and depression: not a depression bible 

shmotguy:

tl;dr while that depiction of depression is valid and true for that person and even many others, it is not for everyone, and going around propagating it as some profound and all-encompassing insight into everyone’s depression is going to HURT someone you know with depression because you will be forcing them into a framework that doesn’t apply to them


or: why i was scared for a whole five minutes that i’m not actually a depressed person and i might just be a worthless sack of shit

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DepressionQuest - An Interactive Game 

lq84i:

Depression Quest is an interactive fiction game where you play as someone living with depression. You are given a series of everyday life events and have to attempt to manage your illness, relationships, job, and possible treatment. This game aims to show other sufferers of depression that they are not alone in their feelings, and to illustrate to people who may not understand the illness the depths of what it can do to people.

I’m playing this right now, and as someone that’s currently working through dealing with depression this is a very accurate representation of how I’ve felt and some scenarios I’ve been in. The goal of the game is to raise awareness of depression and how it affects people, so if you or friends/family suffer from depression I highly suggest playing this. It really gives you an idea of why those with depression act as they do, and that it’s not always by choice.

It covers things like people saying “just go out with people more, you’ll feel better”, or “just work harder and push through” and other common things that are said to people with depression.

"One of the manifestations of depression for me is that I lose my will. And I thereby lose my ability to focus. I don’t think I’ll ever have the day-to-day consistency in my performance that something like This American Life has. If I’m not depressed and I’m on and I can focus and I can think through something hard and without interruption and without existential emptiness that comes from depression, that gives me – not mania. But I exalt. I exalt in not being depressed."

 
-

Rachel Maddow’s Quiet War

making me feel infinitely better about my own mental health

(via lillezzie)

caterinasforzas:

the woods part of when: I believe intelligence and depression go hand in hand. we think way…

plenilune:

I believe intelligence and depression go hand in hand. we think way too much and we see life as it really is. anyone who is able to see all this pain and wrong in the world would get depressed about it. but we also get depressed because of all the beautiful things in nature, as we know nothing in this world is forever, every person, every story, every moment has an ending.

respectfully, screw this.

like, impale it to the wall with an effing broadsword because this is some poisonous crap right here.

as someone who has been clinically depressed for at least half her life (it’s difficult to tell, because a lot of my depression is wrapped up in my many other neuroatypicalities, some of which were, in retrospect, present in toddlerhood), I think I can pretty definitively say: depression is not insight. depression is not because of some special snowflake sensitivity. depression is not seeing all the cruelty and beauty of the world with preternatural wisdom and grieving over the transience of it all. depression kills you.

depression is an outside force that warps your understanding and takes away the things that make you yourself.

depression sure as all hell does not make me see life as it really is. depression exacerbates my apathy, my paranoia, my self-loathing; it makes me physically and psychologically confused and unable to follow through with basic tasks sometimes. depression sometimes makes it impossible for me to enjoy the things that make my life worth living; it takes away my ability to feel and give and receive love; to be angry; depression even steals my ability to grieve. that sounds like a paradox — depression means sad, right? but depression goes beyond sad, into dark places of sabotage and debilitating apathy, where I can barely think clearly enough to feed myself or get out of bed, even when life is offering me good things, even when there is no possible tangible reason for me to feel so empty that nothing tastes good to me any more. 

and the thing is, myths about depression being this magic sensitivity, where you grieve poetically about the universe, is actively damaging. you know what people with mental illnesses constantly do, despite all facts? doubt ourselves. we constantly doubt that there’s anything wrong, that it must be all in our heads, that we’re just making things hard for ourselves, that we’re just standard-issue failures. the funny part is the sheer level and irrationality of our self-doubt should be evidence enough to convince us that what is wrong with us is something much bigger than us, but, as always: depression kills you. 

when you’re told depression makes you create, write poetry, make art, that it attunes you to some secret truth of the universe, the fact that you can’t get yourself out of the damn bed any more and you haven’t washed your hair in five days and you used to live for writing but your ability to create has been obliterated tells you that you’re not really depressed, that you have failed even at this. it’s insulting, sabotaging, and poisonous, and it needs to stop. 

momalibrary:

Sad, Depressed, People. by David Horvitz

http://new-documents.org/books/sad-depressed-people

from the artist: “It’s called Sad, Depressed, People. A collection of stock photographs depicting depression. In the back is a collective-text orchestrated by Laurel Ptak. Its published by New Documents (Jeff Khonsary who publishes Fillip Magazine in Vancouver).”

From the back matter by Laurel Ptak: “Type the keywords ‘sad, depressed, people’ and here is what turns up: mental anguish styled in it most photogenic pose.”

"How did I know that someday — at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere — the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?"

 
- The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (via jennyiswizard)

"

You’re twenty-one or twenty-nine and your heart’s been broken somewhere between four and twenty times—fetal-position-on-the-bathroom-floor broken, real-country-music broken—and you don’t know how you can ever be expected to go on like this for fifty more years and change.

You have scars. You’ve injured your body in ways that will never fully heal, and you realize you are slowly, incorrigibly sliding away from some physical perfection you imagine you must have possessed sometime in the distant past. Maybe when you were fourteen. Maybe the day you were born.

You’ve gone on and off your medication and the bottle. You’ve had your first marriage and maybe your first divorce, or maybe you’ve always broken things off or been broken off. You’ve fucked and you’ve made love. You’re pretty sure you know the difference now.

You’ve thought of suicide in a post-adolescent way at least once. Practically. Stoically. Without any late-night phone calls. Just sober in a dimly lit bedroom, weighing cons and pros.

"

 
-

Jade Sylvan, from You Know How Sometimes You’re In Your Twenties In America (via oddshapes)

This whole piece is golden.

(via girl-germs)

aseaofquotes:

Nick Hornby, About a Boy

aseaofquotes:

Nick Hornby, About a Boy

theyearsthefearsthesleep:

osointricate:

shorm:

birdpear:

depression is like trying to peel a potato with another potato its not fun it doesnt work and you just wanna cry

…why is this such a good metaphor what the fuck

#and then people are like #God! Why don’t you just get a peeler!? #and then they HAND YOU ANOTHER FUCKING POTATO

and eventually you lay on the floor consumed by a pile of potatoes constantly reminded that they all still have their skin and god you suck at life.

and you go to stand up, but you trip on potatoes.

"It wasn’t until we were well past the middle of it
that we realized
the old dull pain, whose stitched wrists and clammy fingers,
far from being subverted,
had only slipped underneath us, freshly scrubbed.
Mirrors and shop windows returned our faces to us,
replete with tight lips and the eyes that remained eyes
and not the doorway we had hoped for.
His wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker that before,
scars like train tracks on his arms and on his body underneath his shirt."

 
- Little Beast, Richard Siken (via wearetheonlyoneswhoknow)

tw for mental health, ableism kind of

nnnn

ok

white privilege is very real and I very much have it and I am not trying to deny that

but can we not delegitimize depression when it comes from white people

because it is depression, not white whine, and there are -isms at work there too

"I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone."

 
- Charles Bukowski  (via skin-n-bones)