It’s weight grips my mind. My emotions. My everything.
It comes over me when I’m least expecting. On those “good” days, the ones that I’m not pretending. The days when I am feeling more than a shred of hope. Happy almost, as if I’m even sure what that is.
Depression likes to play that game with me. It steps back, just out of view long enough to fool me. It lets me think I may win, that it may have indeed gone away for good.
But it never really leaves. It’s always there, hiding in a corner of my mind…right next to the memories. In it’s own special place with it’s “Enter at Your Own Risk” sign hung on the door. No secret passwords can get you in. Trust me, you don’t want to go in. There are no tent forts made out of blankets, no favorite worn out books or teddy bears. No softness or warmth. In it’s cold, darkness it waits in the shadows; planning for it’s next bold attack.
Then, when I’m not looking, it swoops down like a hungry vulture. Digging it’s long, sharp talons into my flesh as it carries me away and consumes me. Leaving only bloodied and torn remains of flesh for the maggots to feed from.
“Try not to be so miserable.”
If only you knew, if only you could feel the insidious combination of pain and nothingness. But I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
It’s exhausting, this battle with myself.
As I sit and stare, as I sleep too much (but never resting), I AM trying. I’m trying to push myself into action. Trying to talk myself into believing there is hope and purpose in being. Ruminating over even the smallest mistakes and failures. Every shortcoming. Wanting desperately to move, but my limbs are heavy and weak. My head is too full to hold up.
It’s not a choice. I didn’t wake up and decide “Hmm…I think today, I’ll wear my sadness.”
It just happens, it just is.
Depression has it’s own life force. Separate from me, but so intricately entwined in my being that it’s removal may be impossible. I fear that without it, there may be nothing else. Nothing worth saving anyway.