His: Keeps him wired and going nonstop, he can’t sit still and is constantly working even at home.
Hers: Keeps her depleted of energy and begging for a life she once knew.
His: Keeps him emotionally withdrawn.
Hers: Keeps her emotionally addicted.
His: Keeps his sleep schedule as a reward system, able to fall asleep mid-sentence, and remain until dawn.
Hers: Keeps her tossing and turning unable to let the thoughts pass like the night does.
His: Buries it all, if he can’t think it, he can’t feel it.
Hers: Feels everything and everyone.
His: Keeps the thoughts to himself.
Hers: Needs to talk it all out.
His: I’ve gotta keep it together.
Hers: I’m completely unraveled.
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His: There’s no room for weakness.
Hers: I’m so weak.
His: Shots of tequila as temporary relief.
Hers: Shopping sprees as a permanent vice.
His: She’s let herself go.
Hers: Who am I anymore?
His: She doesn’t want me anymore.
Hers: He doesn’t love me like he used to.
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His: Men don’t talk about personal things.
Hers: I need more friends to confide in.
His: I’ll be fine.
Hers: I need to see a doctor.
His: Denies he is 1 in 5.
Hers: Knows she is 1 in 5.
His: She doesn’t understand.
Hers: He doesn’t understand.
They share a home.
They share children.
They share a bed.
They share life.
They are strangers, set apart by depression and anxiety . . . that they also share.
They are historical, generational, and these strangers . . . they still live together . . . everywhere.
by Hillary Ramos 
by Christen McKey 
by Her View From Home 
by Kristin May 
by Moriah Couch 
