The Company of Shadows.

They never show up all at once. Depression and anxiety.

They arrive slowly, like fog rolling in on a quiet street. First, you stop returning calls. Then you stop sending them. You say, “I just need a few days,” but the days stretch out until silence becomes routine.

They rearrange your furniture. Turn your bed into an anchor. Your phone into a weight. Your mind into a hallway with all the lights off.

They tell you no one understands. They point to the headlines, the empty streets, the curated smiles online. They whisper that it’s easier this way—quieter. Safer. Controlled.

They make isolation feel like choice.

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And somewhere out there, someone is profiting.

Selling quick fixes. Serotonin in capsules. Therapy subscriptions that ask you to open up to a chatbot. Self-care routines packaged into color-coded boxes and monthly fees.

The world learns how to market your sadness back to you.

“Treat yourself.”
“Stay in.”
“Don’t talk to anyone who doesn’t match your frequency.”

But healing doesn’t happen in silence. It doesn’t happen alone. And it doesn’t come in a branded box.

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The trick is this: they want you to forget what sunlight feels like.

What a street sounds like at 5 p.m. What it’s like to overhear someone else’s story in a crowded café. The rhythm of another person’s footsteps walking beside yours—not always in sync, but close enough to remind you you’re not the only one trying.

They want you to forget that your body was built to move. That your voice still works. That laughter is not a betrayal of how hard things are—it’s a rebellion against the part of you that says you don’t deserve it.

So go out. Even if it’s just to walk to the corner store. Even if you don’t talk to anyone. Even if you don’t know what to say.

Live. Awkwardly. Incompletely. With trembling hands and mismatched socks.

Because the moment you step outside, the spell begins to break.

Not all at once. But enough.

Enough to remember you were never meant to live this life in a room with the curtains drawn.

Enough to remember that even the fog eventually lifts.