convalescense.

If I cannot find happiness within myself, where am I supposed to find it? I quite often found myself asking that question. I haven't found the answer yet, and I don't assume I'll find it anytime soon. Sometimes I think about death. I enjoy the thought, actually. I'm depressed, I know I am. I've been diagnosed with it, but I don't need a diagnosis to tell me that I'm sick.

(Trigger Warning: there will be multiple cases of self mutilation including self harm, anorexia, bulimia, etc. I do not recommend reading this if you're not in a healthy mental state.)

AN: This story is in no way romanticizing depression. I want to write a very detailed story about the road to recovery, and recovering fully. Thank you.