They're right, you know. About depression. There's a blackness in your heart. I don't know how else to describe it; it's just a darkness, a misery.
It's not a crying kind of sadness; it would feel nice to cry. You can't cry; you just keep dying inside. Sometimes you think that life isn't worth it, but then you catch yourself. But the thought still lingers in your forehead. You want to show people how sad you are; you want empathy; you want kindness; you want the entire population to pine and burn and rot just like you. You want to indulge yourself but you want it to stop. You can't imagine life without it, but you can't bear to live with it. I assume it feels like this for everyone. Maybe because of different reasons or towards different things, but it feels like this. It isn't immature; it isn't stupid; it isn't classifiable. It's just hell. Fucking hell.
You wish you show how awful you feel. You wish it's visible in your eyes. You wish that everyone that sees you knows your pain, understands it. And they probably do, but their facade is just as imperceptible as yours. So everyone goes on feeling awful and suicidal. If all the lonely, depressed, melancholy, pensive people in the world would just say so, they'd feel an empathy and understanding that would erase all their pain. But they don't.
I need to get help before I do something I don't get a chance to regret.