Depression is not a sad girl smoking cigarettes with a jack Daniels in hand.
It is not a black and white Polaroid of a fragile looking person perched on the edge of a building, gazing wistfully into the distance.
It is not a warm embrace or somebody kissing the scars scattered across your body.
It is not something that someone can rescue you from.
It is not something to be romanticised.
It’s uncontrollable sobbing until you can’t breathe, with pain so strong you collapse to the floor, cradling yourself, willing the pain to go away.
It’s a numbness that you can’t fight, engulfing you with every passing moment to the point where you can’t face the simplest of tasks.
It’s not showering.
It’s not brushing your teeth.
It’s knowing you should get out of bed, put on a brave face and attempt day to day life but your paralysed.
It’s the frustration of not being able to explain ‘why you’re sad.’
It’s pretending to the outside world that you’re fine, then getting home and breaking down.
Sometimes it’s crying, sometimes it’s not.
Sometimes you can function, other times that’s far out of reach.
Sometimes it’s noticeable, a lot of the time you’d have no idea.
So please stop. Stop writing poems about delicate beings that need rescuing, stop seeing depression as something that can be healed with a kiss or a hug, stop thinking it doesn’t exist or that people are ‘faking’ because you can’t see it and start seeing it for what it truly is; a life changing illness that affects millions.