I stole this from an article in the Guardian on the glamorisation of mental illness – about all those articles that show that artists and geniuses suffered mental illness – but it’s true so I’m going to use it. When you’re depressed you think you’re a piece of shit. So you can’t understand why anyone would bother with a piece of shit like you. And so I veer between wondering what I did so wrong that no one interacts with me, no one wants to see me or chat to me and between being in no doubt that I don’t deserve so much as a passing “like” on Facebook, that I am worth nothing. As the song says: I was afraid I’d eat your brain because I’m evil.

And the depressed person (or maybe it’s just me) looks for vindication everywhere, proof that they are evil, toxic, wrong. And it’s easy because your mind plays tricks on you when you’re depressed. Because you’ve probably spent a lot of time self-pitying. Because you’re exhausted, you haven’t slept. Because you’ve cried for seven hours, because you haven’t eaten properly in days, you’re a bit tipsy perhaps, you’re in physical pain to match the mental pain. Because you’ve lied – whether it’s a normal “I’m fine” lie or something worse – feigned illnesses to get out of things, excuses to explain away those cuts and bruises. Because you look around and there is a layer of dust on the furniture, the bin is overflowing, the recycling likewise, your clothes need washing, the dishes are piling up. Because you sit and wait for someone to talk to you but no one does and you know exactly why. Because of all the above. Because you’re evil and toxic and wrong. A piece of shit.


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