It’s ugly. So, so ugly. It’s not showering for days and wearing the same clothes that you wore to work to sleep in. It isn’t brushing your teeth for probably a week straight. It’s making plans and then bailing because you smell and you can’t bring yourself to leave the house. It’s sleeping way too much and then not sleeping at all. It’s laying in bed, tired but awake, staring at the wall or ceiling; not really thinking about anything in particular. It’s zoning out and then coming to, only to break down crying because you don’t know what you’ve become. It’s looking in a mirror for the first time in days and not recognizing yourself.
You want to be so much better, but you don’t know how. You want to go back to yourself with open arms, but you don’t know where she is. You want to have the strength to smile and laugh genuinely, but it seems like there’s nothing to be happy about, no matter how many people love you.
Depression is not beautiful. It’s ugly, terrifying, and deadly.