Depression sneaks up on me like a mugger on a dark and lonely night.
I can walk into a dark alley knowing the mugger could be there, but I’m still surprised when the shadowy figure steps into my path and demands everything I have and then leaves me bleeding. That happened again tonight — and I’m in a dark hole trying to crawl back into the light.
Many people have far worse struggles with depression than I do. Some people feel suicidal, but I never have. Some people are unable to function well enough to support themselves, but I can make it through a day without most people realizing there’s anything wrong. Some people get hit with crippling bouts of depression and can’t even tell you why.
But I know why I slip into that dark hole every now and then. I walk a fine line between sanity and madness. I know sanity well and live there as my native land, but I’m sensitive to the siren song that comes from the chaos of madness.
When I’m lonely, I get too close to the rocky shadows where those sirens live.

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