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porterr-robinson

Decadence

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rubenista

The Birth of Venus by Jean Honoré Fragonard (1753-1755)

My brother was diagnosed with depression years before I was, and because of that he started therapy years before I did.

I still remember when I was a young teen and he was playing a Nirvana song and he stopped it at this one line: “I miss the comfort of being sad”

He told me that when you start to get better, there’s a part of you that misses being sad and that if you start feeling that way you have to be extra extra aware and careful because if you indulge the feeling you’ll go down a self-destructive spiral

And even though that was years and years ago, I think about it all the time. Especially when I’m reading discourse on the idea of getting so attached to mental illness as an identity that you don’t want to improve things because you feel safe in it and don’t know who you are without it

I always think of that line “I miss the comfort of being sad” and my brother’s warning