A Smile on My Face.
I remember this picture. I had taken it 3 years back. It was 4:13 in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to. I found the nights peaceful, or so I thought. I was having a mental breakdown. Existence was bane, and yet I had this smile on my face.
Thoughts of whether my life mattered or not were going on in my head. My mind was stricken with thoughts of self harm. I wanted to watch myself bleed. I wanted to see it paint. And yet, I had this smile on my face.
I didn’t talk to anyone. I hated everyone including myself. I wanted to cry but felt too tired to do that. My emotions were numb and every day was full of pain and yet I had this smile on my face.
They told me I didn’t look depressed. That I laughed too much to be that. A simple contraction of the facial muscles gave them the illusion of satisfaction. They didn’t understand that there is no face to depression, and still, I had this smile on my face.
How do I tell them, depression doesn’t have a face?