Depressed Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I didn't know how to find my way back, but for now, I just let myself be lost. As the days went by, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of depression. I barely left my bed, and when I did, it was only to shuffle to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. But even the simple act of eating had become a chore. I sat in front of the bowl, staring blankly at the soggy, milky mess. I couldn't muster up the energy to even pick up the spoon. The thought of eating was repulsive to me, and the smell of the cereal made my stomach turn.

to make that final spiritual journey where the Goddess would alleviate this crushing heartbreak and grant me peace. Depression is a poison of the heart and mind. It spreads like rust and tarnishes the soul, corroding its way through to the core until you begin to diminish, fall into ruin, beyond salvation, into this pit of despair that you can't crawl out from. The voices grow louder here; they are repetitive, grinding you down until all that's left is to accept your fate. They're right. What am I? I am nothing. I have nothing left. I am worthless. I am better off dead.

"Hmm? Oh, nah. This is the look. I call it Stress Chic." Her mother made a small, distressed sound. "Darling, you can't go to Moreau Logistics looking like that. What would people think?" "That I've seen some things. That I've been through some things," Deja said with a solemn nod, taking another feral bite of croissant. "It's called visual storytelling, Mom." The worse I look, the more Dominique shines. Strategic ugliness. It's called sacrifice, sweetie. Her mom was still staring like Deja had brought a stray raccoon to brunch. "But what if Mr. Zuo sees you like this?"

“I am a function of aesthetic efficiency. Your territory has become a noisy subplot. I am here to quiet it down. To make it… readable.” It gestured with its stylus. From its book, a beam of flat, white light shot out and touched our cottage wall. Where it touched, the texture of the wood—the grain, the knots, the subtle variations in color—smoothed out into a featureless, beige plane. It wasn't erased; it was genericized. This was the worst invasion yet. They weren't trying to destroy or control. They were trying to make us boring. “Over my dead, highly specific body,” I snarled, lightning crackling at my fingertips.

Because I am his student and he is my professor, he said it is wrong. He cares but me… Care, my ass! I am too hurt to even think about it. Seeing me doing make-up at the moment, no one will understand that I am newly depressed, I am feeling very sad, but this is the truth. There are some people who are very fond of showing their sadness — their depressed faces. It has become a trend to post this on social media, to forcefully draw out tears until the mascara and foundation start scattering down together, mixing into each other and making you look horrible but I won't do it at any cost.

"Are you usually like this, Miss. Meyer, so carefree and a little crazy?" I laughed. This time, it was real. We were making a conversation without him feeling irritated at me, and wanting me out from his space. "You city people are damn too serious sometimes. While on the farm back home, we work with our body and mind. It makes me carefree. Are there things you really want to do despite feeling left out?" I asked him. I was being careful. I didn't want to spin the switch in him. I liked the way we were making a headway.

“Get what?” Ava falters. “That grief isn’t aesthetic?” Zoey continues. “That depression doesn’t come with a filter?” Ava’s smile freezes. The bell rings and the moment shatters but not really. It just fractures into smaller pieces that follow us down the hallway. Julian leans toward me. “This is going to be a disaster.” “Probably,” I whisper. We start moving again and that’s when I see him.

“ I’m Aesthetic, but you can call me Thea sir. “ She said and smiled. As she observed the man who’s wearing a white suit, she noticed how good-looking he is. From his brown hair down to his black eyebrows. His unique shallow eyes that looks so interesting to stare. His well shaped jaws and the bridge of his nose, as well as his sexy lips that seems so tempting. He's also tall and masculine like Ace. This man! This man's presence is so captivating, like he would lock her up from his seductive world. “ Aesthetic means an art. “ The guy whispered right into her face. She watched how his lips curved a sweet smile. “ Your name suits you well lady. “ He added with a low voice. Thea began to observ

Heat rose to her neck. “I meant creatively,” she said quickly. “Surviving creative burnout.” A tense silence followed. The kind designed to make people unravel. The man on the right flipped through her portfolio. “Your aesthetic is darker than we’re used to. But compelling. There’s a sense of edge… control.” “I think luxury is about tension,” Aria said. “Desire without safety. Wanting what you shouldn’t have.” The woman narrowed her eyes, but didn’t disagree. “Mr. Vale will want to approve any final shortlist,” she said.

At the same time, I told her I would definitely be a long-term client. On the surface, Janet looked like a carefree, wealthy, beautiful socialite. No one would guess how she was really making her money. She was completely lost in that illusion. That day, she sent me a picture of a limited-edition designer bag. [This one requires a purchase history of 200,000 just to qualify, and there are only a few in the whole country. I managed to get one.] Then, she added, not even trying to hide the mockery. [Sure, your family has money. However, all you can do is carry those basic, overdone bags. And let's be honest, no guy would ever want you anyway. Kind of pathetic, don't you think?]