Yes, You're Depressed.
No, You Don’t Want to Try Yoga.
No, You Don’t Want to Try Yoga.
Wait—You’re Still Depressed? It’s 2025.
You can get therapy on your phone, do breathwork in a $200 weighted hoodie, microdose while journaling about your inner child, and buy a candle that smells like "emotional regulation."
And still—somehow—you’re lying on the floor in the same hoodie from three days ago, Googling “am I burnt out or just lazy?”
Honestly, same.
The world promised us healing. Instead, we got “healing content.”
You're overstimulated, underfed, exhausted, and being told to "just hydrate and go outside" by someone whose job is literally to be hot online.
Let’s talk about what helps. And what absolutely doesn’t.
The global wellness industry hit $5.6 trillion in 2023, and still, millions of us are lying on the floor eating dry cereal and doomscrolling until our eyeballs bleed
Depression is trending—but not in the way your serotonin wishes
Mental health isn’t just health anymore—it’s content, it’s identity, it’s a vibe. We’re being sold mindfulness in pastel packaging while quietly dissociating under five layers of “self-care.”
And the pressure to perform healing on top of actually surviving?
That’s not recovery, babe.
That’s capitalism in a soft cardigan.
5 Life Hacks for Depressed People (That Actually Work… Kinda)
These aren’t therapist-approved. They’re survival-mode-approved.
1. Enter NPC Mode
Wake up. Brush teeth. Drink water. Put on pants.
No joy. No goals. Just follow the script like a non-playable character in a video game. You don’t need a vibe—just function. That’s enough.
Bonus tip: narrate your life like a documentary.
“She had no will to live, but she brushed her hair anyway. Stunning.”
2. Shop Like a Peasant
If the grocery store feels like a dungeon, go medieval.
Buy oats. Eggs. Apples. No decision fatigue. No new recipes. Just basic survival fuel.
Channel: poor but emotionally mysterious.
3. Leave the House (Just Barely)
You don’t need to go for a walk. Just… exit the building.
Stand outside for two minutes. Look at the sky. Maybe cry.
You’re now 300% more grounded than you were inside.
4. Create a Sad Day Uniform™
Pick one outfit that looks vaguely like you tried, but feels like a blanket.
Mine is black sweatpants, a giant coat, sunglasses, and headphones with nothing playing.
People think I’m listening to NPR. I’m actually dissociating.
5. Put Your Breakdown on the Calendar
Literally schedule it. “Cry and spiral — 4:30–4:50 PM.”
Light a candle. Put on Lana Del Rey. Make it a vibe.
If you're gonna fall apart, at least do it with structure.
How to Make It Worse (You Probably Already Are)
Not ready to feel better? Respect. Here’s how to self-sabotage like a pro:
Depression in the digital age is like being sad in HD—with subtitles.
You're expected to be mentally ill but aesthetically.
Crying? Better be under a moody sunset filter. Healing? Post about it. Relapsing? Make it content.
According to the CDC, nearly 30% of U.S. adults reported symptoms of depression or anxiety last year. That’s not a niche issue. That’s a whole generation melting down in real time.
The problem isn't you. It's the fact that capitalism sold us lavender bath bombs as a cure for existential dread.
What I Actually Do When I’m Spiraling
This is the part where I should say “go to therapy,” and I will—go to therapy if you can.
But also, here’s what gets me through the day when I can't even answer emails, let alone heal:
If you're still here, reading this—congrats. That means you made it through the article and whatever kind of day you’re having. I’m proud of you.
Here’s the thing no one told me for a long time:
Depression isn’t some personal failure. It’s not a sign you’re weak or dramatic.
It’s something your brain does when it’s overwhelmed by being alive.
And being alive in 2025? That’s no small feat.
So maybe you didn’t journal today. Maybe you didn’t heal your inner child or become your higher self.
But maybe you got out of bed. Maybe you laughed at this article. Maybe you just kept breathing.
That’s enough. You’re enough.
Now go drink some water, wear your Sad Day Uniform™, and remember:
These aren’t therapist-approved. They’re survival-mode-approved.
1. Enter NPC Mode
Wake up. Brush teeth. Drink water. Put on pants.
No joy. No goals. Just follow the script like a non-playable character in a video game. You don’t need a vibe—just function. That’s enough.
Bonus tip: narrate your life like a documentary.
“She had no will to live, but she brushed her hair anyway. Stunning.”
2. Shop Like a Peasant
If the grocery store feels like a dungeon, go medieval.
Buy oats. Eggs. Apples. No decision fatigue. No new recipes. Just basic survival fuel.
Channel: poor but emotionally mysterious.
3. Leave the House (Just Barely)
You don’t need to go for a walk. Just… exit the building.
Stand outside for two minutes. Look at the sky. Maybe cry.
You’re now 300% more grounded than you were inside.
4. Create a Sad Day Uniform™
Pick one outfit that looks vaguely like you tried, but feels like a blanket.
Mine is black sweatpants, a giant coat, sunglasses, and headphones with nothing playing.
People think I’m listening to NPR. I’m actually dissociating.
5. Put Your Breakdown on the Calendar
Literally schedule it. “Cry and spiral — 4:30–4:50 PM.”
Light a candle. Put on Lana Del Rey. Make it a vibe.
If you're gonna fall apart, at least do it with structure.
How to Make It Worse (You Probably Already Are)
Not ready to feel better? Respect. Here’s how to self-sabotage like a pro:
- Doomscroll until your brain leaks
- Bonus points if you end up comparing yourself to a 22-year-old life coach with a boyfriend who builds tiny houses.
- Ghost everyone
- Ignore all messages. Assume no one cares. Then get mad no one checked in. Classic.
- Call self-hate “humor”
- Joking about how trash you are isn’t edgy—it’s depression wearing eyeliner.
- Try to fix your entire life by Monday
- Nothing says “spiral” like buying 12 productivity apps and believing you’ll become That Girl™ overnight.
Depression in the digital age is like being sad in HD—with subtitles.
You're expected to be mentally ill but aesthetically.
Crying? Better be under a moody sunset filter. Healing? Post about it. Relapsing? Make it content.
According to the CDC, nearly 30% of U.S. adults reported symptoms of depression or anxiety last year. That’s not a niche issue. That’s a whole generation melting down in real time.
The problem isn't you. It's the fact that capitalism sold us lavender bath bombs as a cure for existential dread.
What I Actually Do When I’m Spiraling
This is the part where I should say “go to therapy,” and I will—go to therapy if you can.
But also, here’s what gets me through the day when I can't even answer emails, let alone heal:
- Take Stupid Little Walks
- Not “self-care walks.” Just laps around the block until the buzzing in your head gets quieter. Bonus if you make up fake arguments in your head.
- Text a Human Being
- Don’t perform wellness. Just say “Hey, I feel like sh*t today.”
- If they get it—they get it. If they don’t, cool. They can watch your TED Talk later.
- Shower Like It’s a Fight
- Not luxurious. Not relaxing. Just a weird, wet battle with your own apathy.
- Afterwards, you’ll smell like effort. Which is something.
- Eat Something on Purpose
- Not a “healthy” meal. Just food you’ll actually eat.
- For me, it’s fries. Judge me, I dare you.
- Accept the Chaos
- Sometimes the best you can do is say: “I’m not okay, but I’m still here.”
- And that’s already kind of a miracle.
If you're still here, reading this—congrats. That means you made it through the article and whatever kind of day you’re having. I’m proud of you.
Here’s the thing no one told me for a long time:
Depression isn’t some personal failure. It’s not a sign you’re weak or dramatic.
It’s something your brain does when it’s overwhelmed by being alive.
And being alive in 2025? That’s no small feat.
So maybe you didn’t journal today. Maybe you didn’t heal your inner child or become your higher self.
But maybe you got out of bed. Maybe you laughed at this article. Maybe you just kept breathing.
That’s enough. You’re enough.
Now go drink some water, wear your Sad Day Uniform™, and remember:
even your most miserable days are worth surviving.
