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But simply the death of a soul
Every night I destroy myself on the inside. This depression doesn't come from some lack of vitamin, some chemical imbalance in my brain, or from an overly traumatic childhood or catastrophic event. It comes from reality. The truth of how this world is. I see people posting things every day about how terrible their lives are because of certain things. People complain about such trivial matters... Hell, I do it too. I complain about things that don't matter. But there's a difference between complaining about something simple, and truly thinking that your life is horrible because of the thing you are complaining about. I don't actually think my life is terrible. I'm unhappy about certain things, but ultimately, when I complain it's just a complaint. I don't get depressed that my mail is delivered to the wrong place. I get annoyed.

The difference between me and other people... is that I am not depressed about the state of my own life. I am depressed about the life of others. I am depressed about the state of the world and all of its inhabitants. There is no cure for this. There is no happy drug you can take to make this go away. There is no cure for reality.

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