I saw a post on Reddit that said, “When you walk through a museum, you’re not just looking at art. You’re moving through centuries of people trying to explain love, grief, power, beauty, and belonging.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen a museum described so beautifully.
Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fevers, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern,just the slow erosion of self,as insidious as cancer, and like cancer it is essentially a solitary experience, a room in hell with only your name on the door.