I’ve had depression as long as I can remember. Which sucks because I’m pretty young still. I’ve learned how to deal with it well, and from the outside, I think I look like I’m doing well. 
I have a stable job, I go to the gym regularly, I eat good food, I have many friends, and an incredible parter. I take care of my appearance and have a clean home. I have goals and I take steps to achieve them. 

The sad truth is, I don’t really care. I love the people in my life and they hold me here, but I don’t care to get out of bed most days. Or leave the house. Or eat. Or go to the gym. I don’t care about any of it. I just do it because there isn’t a better alternative and I don’t want to hurt people. I have very little hope for myself feeling better. I’ve tried so many things but this feeling always comes back. I’m not in danger of hurting myself, but I think of it daily. I just wish I never existed.