stop feeling this way

Sometimes I think I inherited generations of unexpressed grief and I am too small a container for it. I leak. People smell it and avoid me.
Sometimes I think the people that are depressed are the ones who know the truth and can’t swallow the lies. We are the aspiring visionaries, prophets, artists, poets, eccentrics. We can’t live in a fake world, for long.
I have had this feeling as far back as I can remember. It comes and goes but I always know it’s there. I don’t believe I am alone in this. But we are a secret society. Why the shame in critical feeling? Is it because we live in a world where all emotion has become cliche and when we struggle to be unique we make the cliche look bad?
What if depression held no stigma? What if it was celebrated and examined as evidence of a sensitive soul? What if instead of being drugged, we were allowed to go to the bottom and explore without disgrace? What if we are just bottom dwellers who prefer darkness and can learn to navigate it if we are allowed?
Sometimes I think too much.