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.
Because sometimes, when your name is on the door, it’s partly comforting that there are other names on other doors.
the rest of me 