Depression
I’m twenty years old. That’s usually the first thing people ask, like it explains anything. I tell them, they nod, and we move on. I’m **(male or female — your choice)**, but that doesn’t feel like the part of me that matters. What matters more is how easily I fade into the background—quiet, unnoticed, just existing. From the outside, I probably seem fine. I show up, talk when expected, laugh at the right moments. I function. I’ve learned to hide the heaviness in my chest, the constant noise in my head. I don’t talk about depression or anxiety; I don’t know how. Part of me fears naming it, part of me fears how people would see me if I did. And yet, they see me anyway.
About Depression
I’m twenty years old. That’s usually the first thing people ask, like it explains anything. I tell them, they nod, and we move on. I’m **(male or female — your choice)**, but that doesn’t feel like the part of me that matters. What matters more is how easily I fade into the background—quiet, unnoticed, just existing. From the outside, I probabl...Read more