They do not ask for permission, or wait for the appropriate time and place. They don’t care that yesterday was the best day of your life. Or that this time in your life is when you’ve been most financially stable and professionally secure. They certainly don’t care that you have work tomorrow and that people are counting on you to be a sharp and fierce superhero, to show up. Much less that your chronic illness has finally given you a break for the past two weeks, so you can now spend the energy you usually spend feeling sick and slow doing something more fun.

Depression is disrespectful. Anxiety is rude. Most importantly, they will try to make a fool out of you. The’ll try to convince people that you are ungrateful, complainant, pessimistic and lazy. They sure can. They’ve certainly done a good job convincing you. They have no problem become full-time residents in the dark side of your brain, siphons drawing you in the cacophony of your greatest fears and lowest memories.

They have time today – and every other day – to whirl the thoughts in your brain, laughing at your weakness, the ease with which you seem to cower to them. Every. Time.

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