People come to me with knives,
their hands tucked neatly behind their backs,
I spread my arms and beat my chest
with fists full of the past,
I tell them to stab me and stab me right,
and when they do,
I pull their knives deeper into my chest,
and they run away afraid.
I am a paradox.
Creative but logical.
Brave but shy.
Extrovert but introvert.
Optimistic but pessimistic.
Smart but stupid.
Sporty but lazy.
Romantic but realistic.
Normal but awkward.
Happy but depressive.
i just want to thank dan for using his platform to share his experience with depression, it is a hard thing to talk about. he actually explained how it effected him in his life and shared what he is doing to overcome his depression. he is so brave to share this and letting people that are going through it as well aren’t weird and that this thing holding you back doesn’t have to define you and it is okay to ask for help
reader is Very depressed for some reason and 76 try To help Her
You stared forward, mind blank, glaring into the darkness. Willing yourself the motivation to get up and shower you tried to get up. Collapsing back into the couch you just started your staring contest with the dark again.
The door opened and Soldier 76 walked inside, concerned after you missed lunch for the second time. His heart broke as he saw you just sit there, despondent, surrounded by one or two yogurt cups. He knelt next to you, unclasping his mask and you just looked at him.
“How long have you been there,” Soldier 76 suspected it was at least a day, at the way you were wedged into the cushions.
“I don’t know,” you said, “a few days?”
He simply scooped his arms around you, the smell of sweat and general human musk reaching his nose. He lifted you up, your belly grumbling underneath his grip. Reaching the bathroom he started the water, letting you stand for this.
“Can you bathe yourself,” he asked and you just stared at the floor in response.
“Or should I bathe you,” he pointedly said and you lifted your arms in response.
He undressed you and placed you into the warm water, reaching over to grab a washcloth. Wetting it he rubbed a soapy lather over your skin, the dirt and grease easing out by his caressed. He kept rubbing your body clean nonchalantly, seeing this more as a task to complete than anything sexual.
He reached up to grab the shampoo, squeezing some into his hand and started lathering it through your hair. He filled up a cup with water, hand on your forehead to prevent it from running into your eyes, and rinsed out the shampoo. Grabbing another cupful he repeated, getting the last of the shampoo out.
“I’m sorry,” you finally murmured as he unstopped the tub, “For being a useless burden.”
“For being…” you froze, hands reaching out to grasp something just so far out of your reach.
“You have an illness,” he snapped, you flinching at his harsh tone making him turn his voice softer.
“You have a disease messing with your head,” he said, “This isn’t you, this is it. This is depression.”
“You’re smart and brave and so goddamned beautiful and a thousand times better than this old man,” he said, warmth filling his voice, “You aren’t a burden for fighting this. You aren’t broken, you’re sick.”
He sighed and grabbed a towel which you gently pried from his grip, making him stop in surprise. Tipsily climbing out of the tub, grasping Jack’s hand for support, you began to dry yourself off.
“You must be hungry,” he said, letting you get dressed, “Let me go make some food.”
You gave a nod and got dressed, the smell from the kitchen making your stomach growl loudly.
Can we just destroy the idea that killing off a bunch of characters or ending the story in a hyper dark and depressing way is somehow “brave” of a writer? That stuff isn’t brave, most times it’s just lazy and pretentious. It’s especially not brave nowadays when everything is trying to be dark and gritty and they’re just doing what everyone else is.
Okay but why does Gryffindor always get associated with fire and un-planned actions and the kind of bravery that’s really more recklessness than anything else? Where are my Gryffindor posts about people who are terrified of speaking in front of crowds but still sign up to talk at fundraisers, about students who battle depression and whose brave accomplishments are getting up every morning, about kids who knew when to walk away from abusive relationships, where are my posts about the kind of bravery that’s not as obvious and in your face but still inherently Gryffindor?
Are you depressed? If so, I'm a black girl that's depressed too. What do we do?
I wrote this letter to you on the train .. There’s something oddly singular about the way we as human beings deal with pain . We find comfort in making ourselves sole spokes persons, we feel stinging disrespect in the normalizing of it . We nip at those who dare to publicly share similar distress out of frustration and embarrassment. I receive hundreds of messages and stories on here from amazing kids like you literally re-living my adolescent years (something I would never recommend to anyone) . or my peers feeling unworthy barely inching through the day . most recently I received a brief suicide letter on my tumblr that simply ended in “maybe I’ll finally get to meet you and see you perform in the after life ” ..something hit me ..I realized I was irresponsible . I realized that there were tons of people believing they were living alone . Suffering alone telling their dark stories to someone that “had it all figured out ” looking for answers because they believed I had them all …. allowing this without offering up my truth is something I cannot do any longer . Depression seems to be the word of the day for more than a few , for some privately ,some publicly , for some unbeknownst or in denial. I’ve personally been climbing this tree for over a decade falling off starting back again .This was something much easier to hide when the only person I had to be honest to was myself …There’s something different about doing it in front of thousands of people . I usually hide behind my wit or in my lyrics or perhaps a self directed video quietly painting my reality or even occasionally giving a slip of the truth in an interview ..but I see now that is doing us all a genuine disservice . By “us all” I mean my little sister bravely battling depression at 13 to my older sister a survivor tunneling through it at 34 I owe you solidarity .. To the lost and hurting listening to my music ashamed of what it means to you, be ashamed no longer…we are kindred for certain . I apologize for waiting so long to comfort you. I’m not perfect or cured but I am your friend , your family .. Hang in there with me don’t quit yet . We’re all waiting for better ..if you EVER feel like you just can’t wait any longer please tell someone .. Tell ME . I’m up till 4am every night scrolling through the interweb waiting on ya .
With love and respect
So this is just to get your opinion on this as I just want to know your thoughts. Do you agree that it's stupid to call people who admit to their depression as "brave." I think of it as telling those who aren't comfortable admitting that they're cowards.
i don’t think that admitting you have depression is “brave” i think everyone has different levels of what they’re comfortable with expressing about themselves especially when it’s something as private and personal as a mental illness and if people wanna be vocal about their depression then they have every right to and if people wanna be reserved about their depression then they have every right to
Whenever any difficulty or problem arises, instead of getting depressed, be brave. Think, ‘Fantastic. If this problem had not arisen I might have felt I had no problems. This problem is my teacher; all problems are my teacher. They give me knowledge-wisdom and help me recognize more clearly the nature of attachment. This is so wonderful. May all mother sentient beings’ problems ripen upon me right now and may they receive all my merit, fortune and wisdom.’