Depression does not care.
I thought changing my style, changing my diet, changing my sleeping routine, but no.
Depression doesn’t care.
It doesn’t care how I look; it doesn’t care how little I eat, it doesn’t care how much I sleep, hell, it doesn’t even care how spoiled I am. It just doesn’t care.
It doesn’t matter how skinny I make myself, not eating for 4 days in a row. It doesn’t care how much I hurt myself to make it happy, I feel the same.
The same being… I am up at 2:40 am on a Wednesday. The same being… I ate a Pop-**** for dinner and that’s all I ate for the day. The same being… I cannot get out of bed no matter how many hours of sleep I get. The same being that I feel so uncontrollably empty.
Depression doesn’t care how long ago the trauma was. It doesn’t care that I’ve forgotten it almost entirely, every once in a while flashbacks just pop up.
I make jokes about my trauma that make people uncomfortable all to try and pretend that it wasn’t a serious thing. It wasn’t serious, it’s something to laugh about.
Because it wasn’t.
It wasn’t a big deal, people have had it worse, but depression doesn’t care about that.
God, how much simpler fighting depression would be if depression cared.
But it doesn’t.
And I need pills just to help me battle it, and I feel shame in needing help. But I need help.
Depression doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter how good your life is.
It just doesn’t care.