Excuse me while I get this nonsense out of my system:
My depression is a defense mechanism protecting me from hazards and hardships.
My depression gives me an edge, adds shape to an otherwise flat existence.
My depression somehow makes me a better poet because it deals in suffering.
My depression adds content, purpose and routine to my life as I progress through treatment.
My depression serves as a substitute for a traditional spiritual quest.
My depression is a mask for my underlying narcissism and feelings of entitlement.
My depression is a safe place to hide my guilt.
My depression is a scapegoat for my imperfections and shortcomings.
My depression is a learned response instilled at an early age by those who love me.
My depression is an act of aggression against a hostile, unforgiving world.
My depression makes me a statistic, an object for doctors, lawyers and the government to study.
My depression gets me attention.
My depression gives me a sense of accomplishment when I think I’ve overcome it.
My depression is a preexisting condition.
My depression gives me something to write about on the Internet.
I can relate, depression is can be a curse and a blessing depending on how you look at it and deal with it, for me, helps me be a better artist and writer 🙂
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