Blue Monday is here, the media says: A day of despondence and gloom. But really it’s only a marketing ploy To urge us to spend and consume.
Created by cynics, with money in mind, To sell you a trip overseas; They’ve crafted a monster with misery spin And trivialised a disease.
It’s true, the January weather is grim, And Mondays are rarely a blast. It sucks, for us all, to be back at work Now the festive hiatus is past.
But it’s false, however you dress it, to state That depression is just for a day. ‘The black dog will visit for twenty-four hours Then, tomorrow, he’ll just go away.’
Real depression – the clinical kind – Is a wretched, persistent ordeal: A serious, nebulous, life-throttling trial And a difficult illness to heal.
There’s mileage in myths that ink-slingers lap up And regurgitate, year after year. So, marketers, journos and credulous clots, The message for you lot is clear:
Dispense with the pseudoscientific bullcrap, With its sneaky acquisitive goal, And show some respect and compassion for folk With their mental health out of control.