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Inspired by das_sporking’s Writers Against Cliches series–particularly the entry for “Wangst: Depression” (which talks about how fanfic writers tend to mis-write the real mental illness).

Natalie sometimes–no, often–wondered if there was really any point to it all.

Even the most extraordinary aspects of her life–the parts she would be put in a rubber room for if she ever mentioned, guaranteed–couldn’t stop the sensation that she was swimming in a vat of molasses.

She had been staring at the crack in the wall for a few minutes before she broke down in tears. It had to be some sort of bitterly awful cosmic joke. Like God was laughing at her. If there even was any kind of deity in charge of the universe, He or She had a lot of explaining to do.

Or maybe this was Hell. Her own personal eternal torment. Because nothing ever seemed to get any better, only worse.

There was only the preternatural coolth of Nick’s arms around her, and the sting of the tears in her eyes, to remind her that she was still alive. As much as he wanted to, as much as she wanted him to, even her vampire protector couldn’t save her from her own demons.

It was all she could do to just keep breathing.

The National Library of Medicine has a primer on clinical depression here.

Having battled depression myself since my teens (and only having received treatment in the past year), I wanted to try my hand at a more realistic ficlet on the matter. Natalie was my immediate and natural choice as she seems very depressed by the middle of Season 3.

The Writers Against Cliches post on depression is available for your perusal here (link contains some triggery comments).


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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.