#deppression quotes

And in the end, when you lose someone, no amount of tears and no amount of prayers can change the fact that they're gone and you're still here. Every breath you take feels like an insult to them. How dare you breathe when they cant anymore, why can you still breathe when they cant. Your mind body and soul ache. And you cant have them back. No matter how much they ever ment to you.

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries, took the bus home, carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment and cooked myself dinner. You and I may have different definitions of a good day. This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill, worked 60 hours between my two jobs, only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks and slept like a rock. Flossed in the morning, locked my door, and remembered to buy eggs. My mother is proud of me. It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course. She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale” with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs” But she is proud. See, she remembers what came before this. The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles, how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks. She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide. These were the bad days. My life was a gift that I wanted to return. My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs. Depression, is a good lover. So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you. And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world, That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting. It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created. Today, I slept in until 10, cleaned every dish I own, fought with the bank, took care of paperwork. You and I might have different definitions of adulthood. I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college, but I don’t speak for others anymore, and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for. And my mother is proud of me. I burned down a house of depression, I painted over murals of greyscale, and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live But today, I want to live… …I just cleaned my bathroom, did the laundry, called my brother. Told him, “it was a good day.

There is another sort of blow that comes from within ­­ that you don’t feel until it’s too late to do anything about it, until you realize with finality that in some regard you will never be as good a man again. The first sort of breakage seems to happen quick ­­ the second kind happens almost without your knowing it but is realized suddenly indeed.