Depression Doesn't Give a F*ck

Depression doesn't give a f*ck.

It doesn't give a f*ck about you, your job, your body, your relationships, or your goals.


Depression is the Joker, straight out of Gotham. It just wants to watch the world burn.

And will take a cruise to the Mediterranean Sea to celebrate when you go up in flames.


Because it truly doesn't give a f*ck.

I promise.

Depression sucks every ounce of physical energy out of your body, laughing as you fail to get out of bed for the third day in a row, then wakes you up just to say “F*ck you.”


When you make a mistake at work, depression tells you that you ARE the mistake. It doesn’t give a f*ck about your schedule or your deadlines. 

Depression will cruelly tear you apart for an hour, making you late to that thing you promised you wouldn't be late for. And when you disappoint someone, depression tells you that you’re a complete disappointment. 


Depression tells you that you are unworthy of love, the very thing you need most, the thing that truly helps you fight it.

It’s like if the common virus could hijack your thoughts, telling you that you are unworthy of antibiotics.

In fact it tells you that you don’t deserve everything that can stop it from torturing you.

It ruins your appetite, stripping you of the nutrients that can heal your mind. 

And that brisk jog that someone said might help? 


Depression hates exercise, and tells you that you’re too fat anyways to even bother. You’re body is a lost cause. 

Depression is as vicious as a malignant tumor, but no one calls you strong for fighting it. They call you weak, as if your sadness is contagious. Depression is as common as the flu, but no one brings you soup or saltine crackers. Instead they say you’re being dramatic, or looking for attention, if you mention it or ask for help.

So you learn to hide it. And depression loves that. 


Because that only helps it convince you that you’re completely alone. It tells you to push away those who care, because you were never good enough for them anyways.

Depression dulls your senses. Making colors look less vibrant, sounds less pleasant. Oxygen itself begins to physically hurt your lungs. All things that bear life, slowly grow toxic to you.

Depression is like a leak in your gas tank. No matter how much you try to fill yourself up with life, you’re somehow always running on empty. Running out of gas before you get where you were trying to go, even when you thought you’d finally make it that time. It then fills you with self loathing because you couldn't make it there. Again. 


Because depression doesn’t give a f*ck about what you’re trying to accomplish. It doesn't care where you’re trying to go. It’s trying to stop you from taking every single step forward. 

Depression REALLY doesn't give a f*ck. 


So you cant pity it. You can’t ignore it. You can’t give in to it.

You can empathize with yourself. You can honor your feelings and your pain. You can tenderly nurture your own heart and emotions and body.

But when it comes to depression, you have to fight it like hell.


Because it isn’t you.

Those thoughts aren’t yours.

That emptiness and exhaustion isn’t all you’re capable of.

They’re the side effects of a malignant disease no different than cancer.

You are a creator, a lover, a learner, an explorer.

You are a fighter.

You have to fight what is killing you, like it’s a matter of life or death.

Because it is.

And even though depression doesn’t give a f*ck,

I do. 


If you have been struggling with chronic depression or thoughts of suicide, contact 1-800-273-8255 or visit the Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You are not alone.