Treated depression feels like untreated depression

And isn’t that funny? They should have led with that. Every flower-scented moment you pay for, with interest. For every day I see myself in a mirror’s reflection and think, “what a pretty girl”, there will be ten thousand days I shrink from the image as though from a monster in a fairy story.

Welcome, anyone who has stumbled upon my ramblings. This blog will chronicle my own experiences – I haven’t the heart to call them adventures – with anxiety disorders, major depression and body dysmorphia.

My brain is full of cotton balls

They blot out everything and crowd my fragile skull, soft, white, pressed tightly down between my surface – blonde hair, weary skin, red lips – and everything else. I have only my features and a bland sedated thought process. I am a doll – plain-faced, simple, ubiquitous – the doll-people, we are – with hurt I feel but cannot touch to mend.