A common assumption regarding depression is that it’s an all-consuming blanket of overwhelming sadness and misery, and that sufferers are rendered completely unable to perform even the most basic of tasks. While for some people this is true, not everyone suffers in that way.
Sometimes, we become experts at hiding it. We put up a front because, A, it’s easier than constantly having to face the question “Are you okay?”, and B, it can convince us that we’re actually fine. Fake it ‘till you make it. And while an effective coping mechanism, sometimes it’s more destructive than simply wearing the pain on your exterior - someone who hides it isn’t going to get the help they need. Depression becomes the silent killer, devouring you from the inside until you’re a hollow shell - and no one is the wiser.
As a high school student, I recognize the need to fit in and be wanted, an urge that conflicts with the lies my depression tells me; I want people to love me, but I am unworthy of love. I desperately want companionship, but I am so emotionally and physically unattractive that I will never receive it. I so badly crave an exit from this darkness, yet there is no one around me who can bring me out. And so we fall deeper, needing so badly help but too afraid of rejection to reach for it.