Or is my depression really me?
You know those days where there is nothing in the world you want more than to climb into a dark, empty hole and never come out? Well I do. And it’s horrible. Well that’s a lie, there is a certain level of comfort in the sought-after solitude of depression. Not the comfort that you want to bask in, but the kind of comfort which – succumbing to its hollowness – brings a certain level of contentment. The kind of comfort only depression can bring.(more…)