I was born into a world that promised nothing and delivered less. From the moment I could understand words, I heard about dreams, about hard work paying off, about a bright future. But those were just stories told to keep us quiet.
My childhood was marked by absences. Absent parents working multiple jobs. Absent meals when money ran out. Absent hope when I looked around and saw the same struggle in every face on my street.
Depression isn't sadness. It's a void. It's waking up and feeling nothing. It's watching the world move around you while you're trapped in quicksand. I smile when I'm supposed to, I laugh when expected, but inside there's just... emptiness.
Nobody talks about how lonely it is. How you can be surrounded by people and still feel like you're screaming into a void. How you can reach out and watch your hand pass through others like you're a ghost in your own life.
The hardest part? Nobody sees it. They see a young person, and they assume resilience. They assume we bounce back. But we don't. We carry scars they can't see, trauma they didn't witness, pain they refuse to acknowledge.
I've learned to wear a mask. To be functional. To pretend everything is fine while inside I'm drowning. Because when you show the pain, people either look away or tell you it could be worse. As if knowing others suffer too makes my pain any less real.