How To Break Up With Your Depression

Dear Depression,

I am writing you this letter, because we’ve been together so long, I feel like I owe you that. I like to think I’m not afraid to have the tough conversations—I’m not one to ghost—nevertheless I have to admit this was hard. I’ve been trying to communicate with you for a while now, texting and emailing, but you’re just not hearing me. I don’t want things to get ugly between us, so I hope you will heed my words without me having to take legal action.

I remember the first time we met like it was yesterday – your presence unfurled in my peripheral vision and then you appeared in a cloud of dry ice. Even now I’m nostalgic for the romance and drama of that first meeting. You were such a logical answer to a question I didn’t even know I had; the symmetry was beautiful- a soul mate at last. Little did I know it would be an impassioned affair that has lasted over three decades, but then you never expect your first love to be your last.

You gave me so many things in those early days, Depression. At first you were my own delicious secret, a never-ending piece of toffee hidden in the back of a dresser drawer that I could unwrap any time I wanted and take a lick. Later, as a teen, you hung out with me almost constantly while I lolled in bed crying, just staring into space for hours and hours; now that’s loyalty, something that’s missing in so many of today’s relationships and don’t think I’ve forgotten it! You accompanied me when I first found my other ex-best friend Nicotine. Oh how we puffed, dragged and laughed (well, rarely) but you did offer me your undivided attention when no one else would.

If I did manage to go out, you always came with, ready in a moment to provide a helpful comment as I tried to go about my day. Oh Depression, you had so many opinions and you were so ready to offer them! You had thoughts on my outfit, my lipstick, my smile, how I acted with people, how much I wanted to connect – somehow you had all the bases covered! If I stacked a dish wrong, or spilled something, you were right there with some helpful corrective discipline and I bore your bruises proudly, because oopsy I walked into that doorknob how clumsy of me. Thanks for keeping me in line when I needed it most, Depression, if not for you I might have had to join the army and who knows what you and I could have accomplished with a firearm!

You were so useful to me for so long, I scarcely know how I can ever repay you. You got me out of things I never wanted to do in the first place, you were my best excuse and ultimate alibi, even when I had to lie and hedge and pretend we didn’t have a date, it was always you and we both knew it, silly. I’ve been truly faithful, others have come and gone in the ensuing decades, but my fidelity to you has been nothing short of astonishing.

I remember in my 20’s when I first tried to break up with you. I moved to New York City because sometimes the best way to end a relationship is geographic. But months after I’d arrived and started achieving some of my lifelong dreams, I realized you still had my heart. Somehow you’d stowed aboard me like on a rolling trunk in an old-timey steam ship you delightful scamp, there you were, taking up pride of place in my sublet apartment. I don’t know how anyone gave you a Visa, when you don’t even have a face!

I’m sorry I didn’t mention this before, but you’ve always been so damn sexy to me, you just pull me back into bed every single time, you dark minx. Oh Depression, you hot little tramp, for so many hours and days and years, I just couldn’t get enough of you. All those times we stayed up to lick and fuck and suck each other until the sun came up, what bliss.

Hey, if we’re going to take a stroll down memory lane, do you remember all the times my now ex-husband tried to take me from you, and then you ended up taking me from him, you clever little bitch. Of course, for the first year or so I kept you hidden from him, because I knew he’d never understand. Also, I sensed you’d never let me break up with you for something as trite as love.

At first I wasn’t sure I could keep my then husband and still have you as my constant companion, but I managed. Even at my wedding, you brought your cousin Anxiety in for a threesome. (She was totally hot, by the way.) Over the years, I’ve always enjoyed the times when you’ve added her for a kinky three-way – all that heart pounding, palm-sweating adrenaline really kept things interesting, especially in public! Your cousin Anxiety has a real fetish for that public stuff, where I feel like you do your best work in private. You should do porn, Depression, you really should! Oh wait you already have – it’s called European Cinema, and boy have I enjoyed devouring the classics with you by my side.

I knew very early on that you were trying to kill me, but you were just so damn cute and sexy I felt like I had to overlook it. Sure I read the stuff about abusive relationships, knew I was in one, just couldn’t figure out how to get away. It seemed like you’d been with me so long, without you I had nothing and nobody. I thought if I could just find someone else to get between us you might leave, but you were so seductive you defeated some of the very best mental health professionals in the game. Oh, Depression, if I were a real bitch I could go after you for all the money you owe me for therapy, but I’m not like that and would prefer your bunny-boiling ass would just leave quietly.

I took you to so many Twelve Step meetings and that’s where I found out you’d been not just two-timing me, but like million-people timing! You see, before the Internet came along, I thought you were mine and mine alone, but Depression, turns out you are a full-on slut! Look I completely respect a girl who gets around, but my God, you already have a hold on so many, do you really need me as well? Seems a little greedy doesn’t it? Doesn’t seem like the relationship you want comes under the guidelines for Polyamory, because you insist on being so possessive and stifling and totes negging me.

The thing that’s really amusing to me now is that I actually thought you were helping me create ART. I thought I needed you, but lately I’ve come to realize that you’ve promoted yourself falsely as my ultimate muse the way the 405 South highway in Los Angeles says it goes to Santa Monica, but it never actually gets there.

Then there was all the medication, a veritable alphabet of pharmaceutical and natural remedies I’ve thrown down your greedy gullet over the years, until I realized that just as they increased the distance between us, they also distanced me from myself. We are so co-dependent, you see, so enmeshed at this point, that it feels like I would have to blow you out of my brain like that all-too-real last scene in “Fight Club.” Spoiler life alert: that trick never works.

You’ve almost killed me so many times, but something always pulled me back. Something saved me, something I’m not going to go into here, mainly because I’m protecting it from your dark gaze. What’s important is that at the present time, I have someone who loves me again, children who need me and gosh darn it if I don’t actually enjoy parenting them sometimes. I have a new career passion, but frankly it’s a miracle I’m even able to lay these words on this page, because you and I both know how hard you’ve tried to stop me, even today. Weirdly, the only thing that has ever stopped you dead in your tracks is sex, but it’s just not physically possible to do that 24-7 (believe me I’ve tried.)

The even stranger thing is that you’re so good at hiding the abuse (or I am) that no one even believes what you’re putting me through, not when they see my smile. In fact, despite all my best efforts, and all the time you’ve taken from me, you still insist on at least 1-2 days a week to take me all the way down to Crazy Town. When are you going to take the hint? No offense, but I don’t have time for a relationship right now, I’m already in love and we’ve decided to be monogamous, so I can’t date anyone else and if I could it wouldn’t be you. (And you don’t scare him either, so don’t even try.) I’ve told you and told you but sadly you just won’t listen, so now I am forced to write this and go public, which I know is a little humiliating but it has to be done.

So here goes.

Depression, leave me alone, you fucking cunt. In fact using that word to describe you is an insult to cunts, because cunts are beautiful, despite what you have whispered to women every day of our lives. You stupid useless clingy bitch, GET AWAY FROM ME. I don’t want you anymore, you don’t serve any purpose in my life, you’re not helpful, and get this, I’M NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU ANYMORE. Okay, Depression? You’ve let yourself go, and you’re no longer sexy. But guess what? I am. Even though you tell me every single day that I’m losing my looks, I am still pretty, and even if I weren’t, you’ve always been far uglier. You are a rotting corpse, a festering pile of maggot shit that is starting to smell. It’s just NOT CUTE, not even in a Lady Macbeth sort of way.

I don’t care if I have to take out a fucking restraining order, you fucking psycho, you gotta leave me alone and my family too. I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH YOU ANYMORE, capische? Stop taking my life from me, because you can’t fucking have it, do you hear me? My life is mine, for me to enjoy, to add value to the world with my only true unique soul. You will not take my life, not literally, not figuratively, not in a house, not in a mouse you illiterate nothing, not by stealing my essence, do you hear me you worthless, ignorant, harping shrew? Too long I have let you sit at my table, tried to feed you little snacks so that you wouldn’t rise up and bite me again, but it’s time you were euthanized to put me out of my misery.

I am not afraid of you anymore; you’ve abused me long enough. This is not a drill, Depression, we are fucking done. If you come after me again, I will retaliate because I am not fucking around, my anger is righteous and female and bigger than yours. You cannot take me, because I’ve had children and more importantly I’m a parent so I know suffering. I don’t need pain from you, life has enough of it; if I could banish you from the entire planet I would, but that is going to take an army and for now I am an army of one. If you’re reading this, you can get behind me, because I have a suit of armor that is rusty with blood, but I’m going Joan of Arc on this shit. WE ARE HERE AND YOU CANNOT GET US TO GIVE UP, EVEN WHEN IT LOOKS LIKE WE SHOULD.

In closing, Depression, I would like to borrow the immortal words of that seminal poet, whom I predict shall be quoted throughout the ages like the prophet he is (and who definitely looks like he’s seen some shit) the artist J.Cole, who says, “Get Off My Dick.”

All the best,


P.S. – Thank you in advance for your consideration in this matter.

P.P.S. – Even though I’ve erased you mentally and on Twitter, I release you to your highest good, you fucking whore (and not in the good way.)

P.P.P.S – You’re in the blocked callers on my phone so stop calling me from other apps, I totally know it’s you.

*mic drop
*mic drop


  1. So glad to hear your “about damn time” is now and that you’re clearing out the lame ass baggage. Well done FB, big ups love. 🎉🙏💜

  2. Oh pull yourself together, it’s always about you, isn’t it. God this is embarrassing, I can’t believe I ever went out with you, all those years by your side and this is how you treat me? You’ll always be a loser.

  3. You’re the one who dragged our little internal relationship out into the open, for all the world to point and laugh. Did you think that would make me quieter? You can’t shout down your own internal monologue. But it’s fun to watch you try, and fail, again. And why are none of your new internet friends coming to your rescue? see, no one cares.

    • You know it’s so fascinating that you’re here. Because I kind of knew this was going to happen. I knew you wouldn’t want to be exposed. But I decided to come out anyway.

      • I don’t mind the exposure, it’s rewarding after all these years of watching you struggle in the darkness. It shows you still have some hope, that you are clutching for a straw of meaning in the slow drowning that is your life. And I really, really want to show you that’s not true. In public. Then I feel my work might be done, finally.

      • Oh, is my prose too purple? Well I learnt all my “writing skillz” from you, honey. Because, you see, I am you, I’m just the one lone voice of reason in your deluded life. So, newsflash, turns out you can’t just break up with me. Online or during those tearful chats we used to have. Unless you find a way to break up with yourself. And I *love* it when people try that.

      • It’s so interesting that you think you’re the voice of reason. You are the deluded one. This is the last post I send. If you were really depression you would be much meaner- you would have told me already that I am old and fat, that despite my sexual confidence it’s all going to go to hell soon. You would be poisoning my mind against my relationship, my kids and my life in the most vitriolic way possible. I don’t have any more energy for you today- you are dead to me now. Maybe try again tomorrow dickface.

      • But I don’t need to say that, when I can get you to say it for yourself! It’s so nice to hear you reciting the insights I have shared with you over the years, you’ve really internalised those so well, I hardly have to say anything now. Bye for now, but we’ll chat again later. In the darkness.

    • Post it, I want to read! I have another one coming up. It’s not to Vodka, but this is just the beginning of all of us starting to talk to our demons.

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