There are seasons of my life that exist only in whispers.
Moments where words felt too heavy to carry,
and silence became both my refuge and my prison.
For years, I believed strength meant holding it all together —
smiling when I was breaking, creating when I was empty,
keeping pace with a world that never seemed to slow down.
But inside, I was unraveling quietly — thread by thread —
invisible to most, even to myself.
Depression doesn’t always look like what people imagine.
It doesn’t always scream or cry or collapse.
Sometimes it sits at your desk, doing the work.
It smiles politely at strangers.
It says “I’m fine” while its heart is sinking beneath invisible waves.
Moments where words felt too heavy to carry,
and silence became both my refuge and my prison.
For years, I believed strength meant holding it all together —
smiling when I was breaking, creating when I was empty,
keeping pace with a world that never seemed to slow down.
But inside, I was unraveling quietly — thread by thread —
invisible to most, even to myself.
Depression doesn’t always look like what people imagine.
It doesn’t always scream or cry or collapse.
Sometimes it sits at your desk, doing the work.
It smiles politely at strangers.
It says “I’m fine” while its heart is sinking beneath invisible waves.
A Battle Fought in Silence
For me, it was the silence that hurt most —
the kind that settles in your chest like thick fog.
There were mornings I couldn’t lift my own thoughts, days where sound felt too sharp to bear.
And yet, that same silence became the soil
from which my art began to grow.
Elyoshi was born there —
in that quiet war between despair and creation. Drawing, writing, breathing through stillness — these became my way of remembering who I was beneath the noise of survival.
Depression taught me that healing isn’t loud.
It’s a slow, sacred act. It’s the courage to face your inner shadows without needing to perform resilience. It’s learning that rest is not laziness, and that survival itself is a form of art.
the kind that settles in your chest like thick fog.
There were mornings I couldn’t lift my own thoughts, days where sound felt too sharp to bear.
And yet, that same silence became the soil
from which my art began to grow.
Elyoshi was born there —
in that quiet war between despair and creation. Drawing, writing, breathing through stillness — these became my way of remembering who I was beneath the noise of survival.
Depression taught me that healing isn’t loud.
It’s a slow, sacred act. It’s the courage to face your inner shadows without needing to perform resilience. It’s learning that rest is not laziness, and that survival itself is a form of art.
I see you
If you are there now —
in that quiet room where everything feels heavy —
please know: your silence holds meaning.
You are not weak for feeling deeply.
You are not broken for needing time.
You are fighting a battle that few can see,
and that in itself is extraordinary strength.
in that quiet room where everything feels heavy —
please know: your silence holds meaning.
You are not weak for feeling deeply.
You are not broken for needing time.
You are fighting a battle that few can see,
and that in itself is extraordinary strength.