A bit like a meat puppet.
Depression makes me feel a bit like a meat puppet. That’s a graphic description perhaps, but not an inaccurate expression of my current state.
Depression leaves me here but not here; I am a body I haul around and put through the motions, a marionette, a pantomime puppet who is not a real girl. I walk and talk but the disconnect is huge; I feign emotions and connection but it’s an empty act. Depression makes everything unreal, distant…
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