I’m just looking for a
little piece, of mind. Just a
little peace of mind, to
have and hold.

I don’t need a
whole, a part’s just fine. Just a
part to claim as mine to
fill this hole.

‘Cause inside me is a void
that I should stop trying to avoid:
the truth.

I’m unwell, there I’ve said it.
I’m unwell, don’t you get it?
It’s just me and my depression!


A/N: I made a song! About depression! … not that today was particularly bad–mentally, that is–I just wanted to try my hand at composing? I dunno~ I’ll admit at some points I perhaps got a little too influenced by Beauty and the Beast?

Technically, I finished this before midnight, but then I got fussy about the typos in the lyrics so I had to fix it…

Seriously, this is what happens when I don’t have any prompts… Please head over to my ask box for the Ask Box Advent Calendar!


how do people with depression in the harry potter universe perform the patronus charm? asking for a friend

Maybe it’s a matter of perspective. Like, sure, people with depression can’t perform the patronus charm but they’re also less affected by dementors in general: Oh your presence makes everyone feel shitty and you steal away my happy memories? Well guess what, I already feel shitty and can hardly remember what it was like being happy. So guess who’s the loser now!

Probably people with functioning depression can last longer when faced with a dementor, so they do have more time to scrounge up any happy memory for patronus charm. And, perhaps, instead of a full blown guardian animal all they get is silvery wisps, but maybe that will be enough to fend off the dementors for your non-depressed friends to whip out their glowing capybara of happiness.

Untitled drabble (2015-06-27)

It’d be easy, you think, eyelids growing heavy behind your sunglasses. Your hands flex around the steering wheel, plastic hot from the afternoon sun. So easy. You are already driving over the speed limit–not too much, only enough to keep up–and you could so easily just. Swerve. Into oncoming traffic. Into the wall. Just ram the front of your car into something and feel the metal and gasoline and glass crunch and burn and shatter around you. Into you. It’d be easy.

But no.


That’d put other people at risk. That’s not fair. Your desire doesn’t supersede their rights.

The thought lingers, still.


You have been trying to fall asleep for the past three hours, tears streaming down your temples from exhaustion and frustration and painfully dry eyes. It’s time to give up. Accept your failure.

There are knives in the kitchen.

It’s dark, but you have walked the path from bedroom to kitchen so many times that sight doesn’t matter. You could navigate the drawers, their haphazard organization of utensils, with your eyes closed. And so what if your fingers catch on the prongs of forks or the sharp edges of the cheese grater? It wouldn’t be a problem after you choose the right knife and cut/slice/stab–

Your knuckles brush against a set of measuring spoons, the clang loud and startling in your ears.

That’d be unsanitary. People cook food with those knives, in this kitchen. Just go back to your room and try (fail) to sleep.

Maybe you can get a prescription for sleeping pills.


Some days are better than others.

By that system, some days must be worse than others.

In the span of a month you attend a funeral, a baby shower, a wedding, a graduation, and a birthday party. You visit your ailing grandmother, play with your sister’s new dog, develop and pop your first blister, argue with your father, get a free cookie with your coffee…

Sometimes, you feel fine. You find things funny and you laugh. You witness something new and are amazed. You get participate and live through your day completely at ease.

Sometimes your head feels full and slow. Most thoughts hazy, and you don’t mean to be rude, but you honestly don’t hear or can’t understand what the people around you are saying. You stay silent.

The only things that pop into your mind with any clarity are things you are afraid to say aloud. So they stay inside and fester.


A/N: More autobiographical than not, unfortunately. I haven’t been doing too well, but this helps me. It doesn’t have a particularly hopeful ending, but acknowledgement is can be beneficial in and of itself.

I hope it helps someone else, too.