Romanticizing Depression

I’ve recently stumbled upon a poem someone wrote about how beautiful their suffering and sadness is. I’m so angry and upset that someone could write something like that. Depression is not beautiful, it’s intolerable. This is the first night in three weeks that I’m going to bed sober. I have to drink or take pills or sometimes both to not think about wanting to kill myself. Depression has put a wedge between who I am now, and who I could be. It’s ruined relationships and friendships. I get stuck in the mindset that no one should hear my problems because they are my problems alone. But that’s the depression talking. That no one will care for me or love me because I’m this terrible person. My sadness has caused 3 suicide attempts, and the constant thought of more. There’s nothing beautiful about it. I’m angry that my mental illness is viewed as beautiful, that the struggles I go through daily are poetic. There’s nothing beautiful about sadness and suffering.

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