“She tastes like every dark thought I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out. You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness. You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.”

It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.