The romantic thing about depression

I can feel myself becoming a ghost again. I'm completely transparent except for the dark circles under my eyes. My feelings are transparent too, they kind of float around, I'm aware of their existence but I can't get hold of them. I used to run after them but I lost the energy to keep doing that. I lost the energy to keep doing anything at all to be honest. The mere thought of having to get up and breathe and live scares the living daylight out of me, literally. My inner light is fading again and I really want to cling to it but I can't, I can't mentally and physically.

I am so tired of fighting against my own mind, I am so tired of trying to force myself into a happiness that is more plastic and empty than barbie ever could be. I'm used to being empty, numb, but there's quite the difference between being a plastic doll that's pretending to be human and letting the emptiness consume you.
I can't remember the point where depression started to feel like home. It's like that one person you hate so much that keeps knocking at your door until one day you open up and this person seems more familiar than your own mum. And you let it in and start accepting that it's there and you keep coming back to it. Where at first it felt awful to have it around, you adjust to it and at some point you realise that having this thing you hate with your whole heart around is better than being completely alone.

I am sick of people who don't know a thing about my depression telling me that "it's completely normal to feel sad sometimes" and that I "just have to keep fighting" because no, that's just not the point, that's not how it works. First of all, sadness is one of my smallest problems. I'm not sad. I'm absolutely nothing. I'm Hermione fighting against the dementors: I practially know what to do, I've read about it in books and I've had millions of people telling me how to be brave and how I just have to think happy thoughts but I just can't, after all this time they still manage to paralyse me and suck out my soul and I just can't.

So now tell me, where's the romance in this?
Where is the romance in the hours-long breakdowns that leave me sobbing on the floor?
Where is the romance in my greasy hair because I don't have the energy to take a shower?
Where is the romance in the not eating because why why why should I?
Where is the romance in my parents calling in sick because they're too scared to leave me alone?
Where is the romance in knowing my therapist longer than my best friend?
Where is the romance in the doctor's appointments, the treatment centers, the loneliness?
The truth is: There is no romance. So please, please stop pretending that it's there.