I still laugh when depressed.

Maybe it's a sign.

I still laugh when depressed.

The hearty, jovial expression crosses my face with ease. Even amidst pitch-black darkness, I can spot humor. Even when grey clouds punch down from above, the world shines bright — and I know it.

I still laugh when depressed.

And for a moment, with each giggle, I’m suspended in time. Floating in between realms. Fleeting, yes, but laughter is a joyous pause — a peak amidst the flatline.

Depression slithers, lingers, stalks, and simmers underneath and overhead. Through thick and thin, there it is. How could I ever feel alone?

Contrary to popular belief, I rarely feel alone or unloved. I know I’m loved. I know I’m cared for. I know beautiful, captivating prizes run through my life. I know I’ve experienced the stars, the sun, and the moon. I’ve received the jackpot and the favor in this life. Depression still lives here.

It is no matter of a check-in. My depression doesn’t care about who called or who didn’t.

I still laugh when depressed.

To reduce this sweeping calling to something surface-level and mundane is to ignore the truths of existential exhaustion that no phone call can fix.

I still laugh when depressed.

The performance plays on repeat. The temporary bandage of laughter covers wounds the world will never care to fix.

In the end, it’s easier to think you could’ve done something with a check-in.

It’s easier to reduce it all down to a fateful text than it is to admit the real source of pain, because to accept the real source calls forth an admission that you’re in on it too. A world not made for human flourishing. A world where care is not nearly enough to cure it all. A world with foundations that rely on chilling, stone-hearted detachment and turning a blind eye to humankind. It’s too big to fix…with a simple text.

But, hey, we still laugh when depressed.