Dear depression

Dear depression,

Really, you’re quite impressive.

The way you attempt to take down legions of innocent people, pawns in your dangerous game.

And the way you reinvent yourself? I mean, really. Sometimes you knock people down with tsunami force and other times you lurk about. Sometimes you arrive when it makes sense, when one of us would think we’d be depressed; others, you descend slowly,  Just Because!, like a fucked-up little greeting card. You remind me of a superbug, ever-changing to keep yourself alive.

I’ve been talking to people–lots of people–and you know what? We’re onto you. We’re tired of you pushing us down into the dark depths as you float effortlessly along. We’re tired of you taking over our thoughts and telling your compelling lies– when we try to sleep, when we’ve finally made it to savasana , when we’re dicing the onions, when we’re making that funny putting-on-mascara face, when we’re talking to friends, when we’re riding the bus, when we’re on a conference call, when our thoughts are a skipping record of doubt. We’re tired of you making us compare ourselves to everyone else. We’re tired of being tired. We’re tired of you belittling our contributions.

Even though you throw equal parts shame and self-loathing at your victims, and even though you attempt to mute us with your promises that no one could ever love us if they knew the depth of our suffering, we’re NOT going to be quiet.

Nope. No fucking way.

Denise