It's made me realize how important it is to just talk. And to do it face to face. To feel safe. To know there's zero judgment. To actually look into someone's eyes and know without a doubt that they're listening with every fiber of their being.
Depression is more like grief. It's a crushed feeling. A grinding into dust. A shattering. A grating apart like flour forced through a sifter. A parasitic tapeworm of the soul. A weight on my chest, so heavy I can hardly breathe, producing the panic of an asthma attack, as if I am about to die.
Or maybe I'm just telling you all of this to make me feel better. I'm not violent--I'm prone to yelling and occasionally punching walls or slamming doors. I'm not crazy--I'm emotionally unstable and unpredictable. ...Whispered words to a fractured mirror. But the real question is, have I accepted it?