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Entitled: Millennials Anonymous

Bottoms up. 

~*~

Tilt the hour glass 

of the World Wide Web back 

and watch your time 

slip right through the cracks. 

~*~

It’s a 

socially 

acceptable 

addiction. 

~*~

It’s like bringing a 

bottle of whiskey 

to the office or the bedroom. 

~*~

Do they like my status? 

Did they love my photo? 

Would you swipe right?

~*~

Right?

~*~

It’s like write or die. 

But I don’t mean novels. 

~*~

I mean catchy 

155 character phrases 

that will get you 

retweeted. 

~*~

It’s repeated:

“Entitled.”

The most connected 

disconnection.

“Millennials.”

The lost generation. 

~*~

Instafamous. 

Instaconnection. 

Instagratification. 

~*~

Instadepressed. 

Instasuicide-rates-on-the-rise. 

But it’s all lies. 

~*~

There is so much 

pain and loneliness inside. 

And social media 

is the disguise 

~*~

Why didn’t you snap me back?

I saw you read my chat. 

It really isn’t all that. 

~*~

Well now that you’re trending…

Trendy. 

Why didn’t you friend me?

~*~

Dogsnaps. 

Dadsnaps. 

Naked girl snaps. 

~*~

Screen shot. 

Unwanted eyes. 

Did you see that snap she sent last night?

Privacy has no where to hide. 

~*~

Hello @username. 

Hashtag-bff. 

Hashtag-when-was-the-last-time-we-actually-hung-out. 

Hashtag-k-thanks-bye. 

~*~

The most followers is linked 

to the least amount of friends. 

~*~

Don’t pretend. 

~*~

That S.M.S. is really an S.O.S.

And when is the last time you really 

L.O.L’d?

~*~

Time to update your 

calling card

And your tag line. 

Put up a really sexy pout. 

Tinder out. 

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Hello, Sunshine

I was sitting outside of my house, hunched over hiding by a bush. I couldn’t have started kindergarten yet. My young mind consumed with wanting to die; I just wanted everything to end. I couldn’t have been more than six! I am not even sure how I understood life or death, but the level of comprehension at that time still stands vivid in my mind; why I would want the latter so badly was overwhelmingly frightening to say the least. 

Junior High led me into more of a peer-comparison depression. My life at home was… isolated, and I kept away anyone who would want to come over. The one time the joking from my junior high bully pushed me to tears, I was sent to the counselor. I refused to talk to them because having to see a counselor meant something was wrong with me.

High school I transitioned roles. I was much more aggressive. I stood up for others being bullied, but I also allowed a bitterness in me that kept me from showing compassion to anyone else, almost turning me into a bully of sorts. (It is still a harbored personality trait)

My struggle with depression became exhausting. My committed relationship, if anything, was a sign for my need for acceptance but also of low self esteem. I allowed myself to be treated in ways that no self respecting woman would permit, all in the false name of love. I found more life in sleeping, and did everything I could to sleep for 12-18 hours a day. (Oversleeping is a pattern I still struggle with.)

I write this, and feel ashamed, not for feeling depressed, but for feeling like my level of depression isn’t good enough to talk about. It is this weight I have allowed society to place on my shoulders.

I write with hope that maybe knowing that despite my outward appearance of having it “all together” if you needed to hear this then know that you are not alone.

Sometimes there is no amount of hand washing, flu shots, or vitamin C you can take to keep you from getting that cold.

If only we, as a society, understood, talked openly about, and respected depression the same way as the common cold.

There is someone there to help you. There is so much to life. You are loved.

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