BLACK IS MY HAPPY COLOR

Depression isn’t the absence of happiness, it doesn’t manifest as tragic melodrama and it can’t always be noticed by those who don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t present only during times of corresponding darkness and uncertainty and it can’t be exiled by times of relative joy or contentment. It can be impacted by events in the outside world but the thing about it is that it doesn’t need to be. It’s always there, at best surviving inside you like a dormant virus waiting patiently for its chance to flare up and take total control; at worst, totally in control, pulling you down into a thick murk you can’t break free of no matter how hard you may struggle. Put simply, it doesn’t matter how happy you should be, how awesome your life is, how successful you are, how many people look at you and think you’re on top of the world and are understandably smiling through every second of it — if you’re depressed, there’s a very good chance you’re always depressed. Just because you can’t see it at a given moment doesn’t mean it isn’t still there. Depression is absolute. It’s a loss of hope and an unwitting relinquishing of belief — and it hurts like hell, so much so that after a while the acceptance of the pain becomes matter-of-fact and second nature.