Depression wakes up to a bright sky, hoping the sun wouldn’t shine. Depression doesn’t kick in and sleep for longer; it kicks out all blankets, puts on disguises to hide hopelessness and goes about the day. Depression hates caffeine and music. Depression doesn’t talk itself out loud. It lives insides, bangs and screams in silence. Depression cannot cry. It has run out of everything that can flow. Depression bites its tongue and whimpers at every sound that escapes the mouth. Depression is monosyllabic. Depression has unanswerable questions. Depression never has answers. Depression shakes a lot. Depression is a faker. Depression cannot tell itself apart, it loses parts of it in crowds. For Heaven’s sake, depression cannot even spell itself; it is usually around a group of people, preparing to introduce itself as, F-I-N-E. Depression begs you to stop glamorizing it.