π¬ Life
Thatβs the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I donβt want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. Itβs mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.
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