To anyone suffering from a mental illness, you are a bad-ass motherfucker because nothing is more terrifying than battling with your own mind every single day.
Depression has taught me that exhaustion is not always something sleep can cure. Sometimes it settles far beneath the body, inside the places where hope once lived, until every breath feels like another promise you no longer have the strength to believe.
Every morning feels like carrying a body that weighs twice as much as it should. Nobody sees the battle because all they notice is that I made it out of bed, never realizing how close I came to staying there forever.
Sometimes I isolate myself hoping someone will notice I'm gone. Other times I isolate because I pray nobody notices how broken I've become. I never know which feeling will win.
People keep telling me that better days are coming, but they've been saying that for so long that I no longer know whether they're trying to comfort me or convince themselves.