I know what it is like to lay on my bathroom floor in a heaping pile of tears. Thinking the only way out is to line every mother-fucking bottle of pills in that cabinet up. And one by one take them. That isn't you thinking. That isn't me thinking. That is the bitch depression lying to you. To me.
Not to long ago I came across this article.
I'm going to end this post with an excerpt from this link. About the weather. About depression. About the similar lives they live.
Excerpt from: Letters of Note: It will be sunny one day