All in all, I just feel tired. As if a balloon is slowly being deflated and every last breath of air is being squeezed out until all that is left is a floppy useless piece of rubber that has been stretched beyond recognition. My mind is a haze, my eyes are still struggling to focus and to top it off, my ability to still sleep soundlessly has escaped out the back door. My reflection is cold, my skin is grey and the bags under my eyes could fit enough luggage for a round the world extravaganza. Tie that up with a stammer, my never ending increasing weight and my mood swings and you might say I’m a catch! Or maybe not.
Tears are my new besties, they just seem to want to pop up at any opportunity and overall, I feel glum, inexplicably sad and utterly isolated. It’s the age-old question, what would be the one thing you would take if you were stranded on a desert island? For me, it looks like it would have to be anti-depressants. And even then, most days that doesn’t feel enough right now. If anything, it feels as if someone has popped out the real pills for placebos and instead wishes me to suffer under the heavy burden that is my damaged and lagging brain.
Sleep would be my best friend, but it perhaps isn’t even that that I crave. Instead it is the opportunity to just lie still, to feel myself wrapped up in my covers and to not have to explain to the world that right now, I just cannot cope. I cannot answer those e-mails, I cannot have that conversation and that smile you see? Well, it might as well as be a sticker for all it’s worth. It’s meaningless and above all, it’s totally and utterly fragile. And of course, completely false.
My limbs ache and they feel a strain to have to carry around. Yet I cannot help but feel the intense guilt that I am still here, I am breathing without struggle and I have months and years ahead of me. Instead, I’m crying, I’m lost and I’m feeling everything but the will to keep going. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suicidal. I just feel like a shell. It’s a difficult one. On the one hand I feel a plethora of emotions that I simply cannot fathom or control, and on the other hand it is empty. So empty, that my hand might as well not be there.
I guess, this is the real ugly truth of depression is it not? It isn’t just feeling a little sad or something that you can get a grip of. It is something that is all consuming, it breathes you and holds you tight in a vice until eventually you must give in. I’m not going to give in, I don’t want to give in by any means. But perhaps, I may lay a while and allow this black dog to embrace me in it’s assured grasp.