My depression is like an unwanted house guest who barged into my life never asking if he could. He set up in my living room, tossing empty cans of beans next to the empty bottles of whiskey.

My knees are sore from praying so much, but the pain never left my side. It’s been years of self-pity and nights of crying myself to sleep, only to realise how depression has really changed me.

I want to do everything a bubbly girl does; will it still be possible or are those dreams gone? I have to be strong, while selfishly thinking I am being robbed of a happy life.

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