Depression is different for everyone. Mine actually manifests itself as extreme anxiety and numerous daily panic attacks, normally while thinking I’m about to die. Just as a quick example, some entries from my mood diary a couple of years back:

“31st January:

Had forgotten that D__ gave me penguin pyjamas for Christmas,
until he reminded me. Wondered if I have a brain tumor.

Told myself not to be ridiculous, and tried to think of something to
prove my brain was functioning normally–came up with ‘no severe
headaches recently, last eye test showed no behind-eye pressure,
can coordinate both sides of my body, it’s fine’.”

“20th March

Not only will he never fight for me–hard to stomach, but a thing I’ve mostly accepted, by now–he won’t even speak up for me. Thinking back, I honestly can’t recall a time ever has… and tonight, he’s admitted that he probably never will.

I want to go home. I want to be the one being looked after, sheltered, taken care of. I miss my Mom and my sister. I miss my own friends–the ones who were always my friends, no matter how many times I let my mouth get away from me.

I’m sad and tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

There would be more, but I was depressed. I stopped bothering with the mood diary not long after that (and instead, began sleeping 14 hours a day and still being exhausted–yay, happy pills). For the record, most of the entries contained things like me having an itchy armpit, and then losing all my breath and starting to hypverventilate, because WHAT IF IT’S BREAST CANCER.

Depression is no fun, folks. No fun at all.