Articulated perfectly. Beautifully. Truthfully.
Depression lies, with tremendous talent and hate for life.
That’s what it does.
Depression, in a way, is a bully, a predator, a demon. It picks on you, torments you, blinds you to your good qualities and your potential. It makes it harder to concentrate or solve problems, and makes it hard to imagine life getting better. It attacks people physically: sleep, appetite, energy, motivation. It destroys joy in the things that would otherwise bring it. It brings on intense, unfair guilt and shame. It slows your thoughts, sometimes even movements. It kills hope. It convinces you that the only path for you is self-murder.
Depression is a serial killer, a horseman of the modern apocalypse.
Depression is awful indeed. I’ve met this demon, quite convinced all was lost, some decades ago and from time to time since. Life got better, much better in fact, after some stumbles: trial and much…
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