On Depression

Every ounce of liveliness, the vivacity you may have once been accustomed to, has been whisked away by the specter of forthcoming failure. You have become nothing but an empty vessel harboring repetitive thoughts of failure, self-hatred and silent wishes for the death of consciousness (for some, such wishes aren’t so silent, but present themselves as a violent protest against the burdensome impositions of life). Existence has become so monotonous for you that self-care is intolerable; you simply lack the spirit to even consider your own well-being. Hope is the only thing that allows you to keep yourself from total entropy, but hope is nothing if not tenuous; once hope is extinguished, in a similar manner, your desire to continue living will become negated.

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