They Profit Off My Depression: A Poem

I used to think the problem with depression is that
there cannot be a poster child for it, no brand ambassador,
because depression is like YouTube channels
everyone subscribes to a different set

depression, is like humour,
everyone has a different palate
And everyone draws the line of tolerance differently.

but more so,
depression is like a soup
served to you burning hot
an appetizer for a hell-hole

and everyone has different utensils.
so even if the ingredients are the same
each is a secret recipe
handed over to you by your personal dementors

But you
you successfully commercialised my illness.
made a commodity out of the dark place
did some calculations about how
desperate the depressed soul is to travel towards light
you understood it before even my psychologist did
that I’d do anything to stop drowning
even seek support in the floating straws

So you made an industry reeking of pity
and labelled it self-care when labels are what ruined us,
sold in the form of aromatic candles, bubble baths, bullet journals,
badges that shout, “good vibes”
but sucked all of mine
and money
when I was already struggling with the therapist’s fee
and all along, my depression was your ally

So does that mean
that the more wretched that people are
and the more people that are wretched
are your profits?

So does that mean
that the more wrecked that people are
and the more people that are wrecked
are your profits?

but how can someone’s misery
be someone else’s happy news?

my depression tells me
that’s just life
So I wonder (and hope)
if death would be less selfish.


Featured Image: Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

If you or someone you know is dealing with depression, suicidal ideation or similar symptoms, please reach out to iCall helpline at 022-25521111 (available 8 am – 10 pm, Monday to Saturday in India), The Samaritans. (116 123 Or email jo@samaritans.org.uk) in the UK.

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