Depression doesn’t always look like Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice. Yes, sometimes it’s The Sads. But sometimes it’s The Blahs, a.k.a. anhedonia, when you cannot muster a single shit to give about anything. And sometimes it’s a COSMIC VOID that swallows the universe leaving nothing but an infinite expanse of nothing.
I’m sure there are other classifications, too. And none is
worse than another. Each one, left unattended, will grow and can possibly lead
to the dark place, i.e., suicidal
ideation.
The Sads is a painful state. “No one cares,” The Sads says.
“Don’t try to connect, you’ll only annoy them.”
“What is wrong now will always be wrong; what isn’t wrong yet soon will
be; and you can’t do anything to change it.”
The Blahs make life meaningless. Everything is beige. Should
I pick up my phone or stare at the wall? The only saving grace is that there
usually isn’t anything to tip the scales toward ending things.
THE VOID is terrifying, The Blahs on steroids. It is zoned
out, catatonic, missing time. Seeing through the façade of matter. THE VOID
gives every reason to abandon ship.
Regardless of how depression presents, we all have to figure
out how to stay on the planet. Here’s How
I Keep from Killing Myself.
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