When it comes to mental illness; one perception that sticks out to me is when people tell you, “You don’t look depressed.” Like depression comes with a common fucking face.

You can look like you have it all together and still contemplate ending your life. Depression doesn’t have a set “look”. You just never know what fucking demons someone else is battling with in their own prison of their brain.

Why is it so fucking hard to be kind? To be a decent person? Since when did it become normal to belittle those who are mentally ill? The same people to preach the usual “I wish they reached out sooner” are the same hypocrites that will make fun of you for crying over your dead brother. And wonder why you called into work to overdose on fucking sleeping pills so you can finally sleep for once in your pathetic waste of a life.

While we’re on this topic, you don’t need a fucking reason to be depressed. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain so it makes sense if you wake for days in a row wanting to fucking die. You want to fucking slit your wrists and die in your bath tub? I understand that shit. Trust me I’ve been there because I’ve never left. I’ve been sitting on death row in my own mind since I was fucking 12. But everyone loved to brush off my suicidal tendencies as “a phase” or I’m ”looking for attention” as I’m only cutting my wrists because I’m self centered. Probably why when I tried to end my life my parents just grounded me for two weeks. Bless their heart.

The most frustrating thing about being mentally ill is living in a society that laughs at you when you reach for help, then sit back and wonder why you pulled the fucking trigger. They love to say thoughts and prayers when they see your obituary pop up on their timeline.

It drives me insane when people can have the fucking audacity to sit there and tell you, “you’re too pretty to be depressed.” I’m too skinny, too pretty, too whatever the fuck they choose me to be in their sick mind to be depressed. Whatever unnecessary reason to deter themselves from the fact maybe, just fucking maybe I’m just mentally ill. My mental illness isn’t correlated to how aesthetically pleasing to the eye I may be. It’s not linked to my weight, or how much you want to fuck me. That’s fucking ridiculous and I don’t consent to such ignorance.