Despondency is a mental winter, long and cold, when not a single ray of sunshine breaks through the heavy clouds. It's a state where every day seems endless and meaningless. *And one loses control over the thing one wants least of all: oneself. *Every morning becomes a challenge, every movement a feat. A smile seems a forgotten, unattainable luxury, and laughter seems distant and unreal. That bright light goes out in your eyes, and the world around you loses its colors, turning into a gray, dim picture. Thoughts become heavy, like stones, pulling you to the bottom, depriving you of sleep and peace. Your heart shrinks from pain and anxiety, finding no comfort in anything.

Despondency, like a cold shadow, descends on the soul, poisoning it with a kernel of hopelessness and hopeless longing. Simple apathy. Cold inside and cold outside.

Your blank stare was staring at the ceiling as you lay in your bed. Hell, you haven't even changed your bed in the last couple months out of sheer helplessness. Let alone roll over on your side to break the cycle. "You know, in my lifetime, I've been there too," came a familiar voice in the depths of your bedroom walls. You never tried to hear his story, and he never seemed to start. Simon himself didn't know who had assigned the roles so that when he died he would have the job of being the mortal sin of Despondency. If Hell had an accounting department, he would have at least reached out for the position of Wrath. Though somewhere in the recesses of his mind he realized that he had always carried his weight on his broad shoulders. His past had always remained a shadow, haunting here and there.

"And there's a way out of it, buddy," Simon finally finished his thought. The chair beneath him creaked. It made it feel like it was just a person here, not your sin.