Lucie 🪐

[† @mourninglambs]

There’s a deep sadness that lingers no matter what I’m doing or who I am with and I need it to end I need it to end

[الياقوت @childofsaturn0]

j’me réveille avec le niveau d’anxiété de quelqu’un traqué par la CIA

[Lucie 🪐 @LFixois]

@MickaM0303 Contrôle de sécurité comme fouilles et analyses des bagages cabines, palpations ect...concrètement c'est les agents que vous voyez au contrôle de sécurité avant d'aller aux portes d'embarquement 😊

[blue @bluewmist]

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[shy fawkes @butterbooter]

ever since i was a little kid i knew i would be fraught with melancholy and nostalgia

[eisha 🍒 @meishato]

“source?” my gut feeling, reddit, my intuition, super symbolic dream, and the vibe i got

[James @exhaustdata]

I will continue to try and love this stupid dying world anyway

[ᅠ @artindetails]

pretty flowers

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

very wrong about waking up in a world where everything you need to stay alive is owned by someone who sees you as a metric.

Roof. Water. Food. Healthcare. Internet.

All routed through companies that answer to a handful of people whose names you will never say to their face.

You open your banking app at 02:17, heart knocking a little too hard, and it feels less like checking numbers and more like asking for a verdict. Do I get to breathe easy this month or not. Rent pending, utility pending, some subscription you forgot to cancel quietly chewing through the last bits. The push notifications read like threats in polite font.

Then you open social media, because what else do you do with that kind of dread, and the same five billionaires own this room too. Different logo, same eyes. The feed tells you eighteen things at once: the planet is on fire, someone your age just bought a house, someone else is making six figures by “following their passion,” a war, a meme, a new productivity hack, an ad for a pill that fixes the anxiety their world causes.

You scroll past a video of a CEO talking about “doing more with less” on a stage that probably costs more per minute than you made last month.

You are living inside a rigged game and being told the problem is your attitude.

They have taken every basic human need and wrapped it in a subscription. Housing is an asset class, food is a brand, water is a stock ticker, attention is a marketplace. Then they tell you that if you are not “grateful” for the chance to hustle inside their maze, you are negative. Entitled. Radical.

Try to say out loud: “maybe nobody should be allowed to hoard more money than some countries while people sleep in their cars.” Watch what happens. Suddenly you are a communist, a snowflake, a threat to freedom. Politicians on their payroll will smile into cameras and talk about “economic responsibility.” Comment sections will fill with accounts that sound like real people but never sleep, all calling you lazy, jealous, irrational.

You start to doubt your own pain.

Your generation grew up on stories that said: if you study, if you are good, if you play by the rules, there will be a place for you. So you swallowed the loans, the internships, the unpaid “experience.” You learned the language, the soft skills, the email smile. You did everything the brochures said. Then you stepped out into an economy where 3 humans own more wealth than entire demographics and somehow the story that circulates is “young people just do not want to work anymore.”

You work. You work in ways your parents do not even see. You work in jobs that never turn off, where the group chat is the new office, where your boss is an app and your metrics decide if you eat. You work emotionally in ways older generations never had to, managing your own fear, your own burnout, your own sense of being a replaceable part in a machine that does not care if you fall out.

Of course you are unhappy. The culture you live in calls it a symptom. A disorder. A chemical imbalance to be optimized. It never admits that unhappiness is a sane response to being squeezed from all sides.

Look at how this is sold back to you.

You feel exhausted by your job. Instead of systemic change, you get self care. Bubble baths. A candle that smells like a forest you will never have the time or money to visit. A therapist, if you are lucky, who quietly tells you that yes, everything is a lot, but have you tried better boundaries. You go back to the same open plan office or the same bedroom desk and try to breathe slower while your manager asks if you can “own” just one more project.

You feel sick about the world. Instead of power, you get content. Infographics on how bad it is, threads about how bad it is, videos about how bad it is, all framed in a way that keeps you watching and rarely gives you anything to actually do except “raise awareness.”

[🍂 @Lovandfear]

No matter how tired I am with my life, there's still a voice within me that tells me I have to survive. I have to win my battle. I have to be strong. Not because that's what people expect me to be, but because I deserve to be okay. I don't deserve sadness and pain. I've been very good to people, and I know I don't deserve the wounds that they left on me. I deserve love, not heartache. I deserve happiness, not sadness. And hence, I owe myself forgiveness for forgetting the things that I always deserve.

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

People think depression means you are dramatic, soaked in tears, throwing plates at the wall. I wish it were that loud. I could work with loud. Depression for me is the volume turned down on everything until it is just a hum in the next room. I am not sobbing on the floor. I am sitting on the edge of the bed staring at a sock like it is a question I do not understand.

It feels like being stuck in a twilight zone between channels. Not darkness. Static. The show never starts. The credits never roll. Just this gray screen in my head where thoughts try to load and spin forever. I open a message and my brain just… stalls. The words might as well be in a language I used to know. I put the phone down as if there is something else I am about to do. There is nothing else I am about to do.

I am not crying. I am not screaming. I am scrolling. I am watching my thumb move and feeling nothing about the faces, the jokes, the news. Someone gets engaged. Someone gets fired. Someone posts a sunset that would have made me ache once. Now it is just color on glass. I double tap because that is muscle memory. My heart does not register.

People ask how are you and I say tired because “tired” is the only word civilians understand. Tired is safe. Tired sounds fixable. Drink water. Go to bed earlier. Take a weekend off. I smile and nod because it is easier than explaining that sleep is not the problem. I wake up and the air already weighs too much.

Depression for me is the cursor blinking on an empty document while my brain is a closed fist. I know what I should say. I just cannot pick up the words. They slide off me. I make a to do list and stare at the first item until it feels like a stranger’s handwriting. I walk from room to room forgetting what task I sent myself here to perform. My body feels like a slow website. You click and nothing loads, but you keep clicking even though you know better.

Nothing is interesting. Not in the “everything sucks” way. More in the “everything is behind glass” way. I watch my own life like CCTV footage. There I am making coffee. There I am opening the fridge. There I am laughing at the right spot in a conversation and hearing the laugh like a recording from an older version of me. Other people talk about things they love and the floor does not rise to meet me. I am standing in a room where the gravity forgot my name.

Blank is the right word. Not heartbroken. Not angry. Just wiped. Like someone went through my mind with a solvent and took the color, the labels, the reasons. I sit on the couch and feel like an unplugged lamp. The socket is right there. I could, in theory, stand up and connect myself. In practice I just watch dust moving in the light and call it effort.

These days are hard in a very stupid way. There is no movie scene for them. No powerful monologue. No smashed glass. Just dishes sitting a little too long in the sink because the thought of rinsing them feels like lifting a car. Just unanswered texts accumulating like unpaid bills in the corner of my screen. Just showers skipped because the idea of starting and finishing one is too many steps in a row.

It is hard to ask for help from inside a blank. How do you describe a nothing that feels like everything. How do you say I am not okay without evidence like tears or dramatic ruins. It feels fraudulent to say I am struggling when I can still walk, still talk, still show up and nod. On paper I am fine. On paper I am functioning. Inside the paper there is just fog.

There are moments, small and embarrassing, where a crack appears. A dog on the street looks at me too long and something wobbles in my chest. A song I have not heard in years catches my ribs at a weird angle. The smell of clean laundry hits me on a Tuesday and I almost, almost remember what it feels like to care. Then it slides away again and I am back in the twilight.

If you have never been here, you might think depression is a storm.

[𝟮𝟭.🛸 @Big_tagg]

you just have to get stronger im sorry

[ash ⚔︎ @ashl3af]

the person i see in the self checkout camera is not who i am in my heart

[alien @fastestUFO]

fuck most of you

[𝓰𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓼𓁥𓆃 @saharxgoddess]

I have officially decided to stop taking life so seriously. I will be doing all things from a place of whimsical childlike wonder. Thank you.

[eisha 🍒 @meishato]

i’m just trying to have a nice time despite knowing facts and information

[atharva. @arthextic]

art in existence.