One of my ex boyfriends once told me things don’t get better, they just get worse. People keep on dying, terrible things continue to happen… and that was his excuse for explaining why my depression was irrational. Logic I either don’t understand, or logic I’m too afraid to ponder about…
…but I’m afraid I’m currently pondering it. As each day passes, my depression is getting worse. My brain feels heavier and less flexible, my emotions feel either missing or torn away in a numbing ache. The more I feel it, the more I feel like no one quite gets it. I wouldn’t want them to know how it feels, but I don’t like people pretending that they do – over simplifying it and prescribing a healthy lifestyle to fix all my problems.
I found one person that got how I felt. I pushed others away in hope to bring this person closer, unfortunately that ended in disaster – just like was foreshadowed in the opening statement. I pushed other people away only for him to follow them.
And now here I am.
More alone. More empty. I wish I could remember optimism, the feeling of assured excitement and enthusiasm.
My writing is irritating me right now, which is irritating me more because it’s the only outlet I have. I think I’m just going to have a sleeping pill. I can’t do today anymore.
One of the last things I asked him was,
“Do you believe that depression goes away?”
I preferred the question about the chicken and the egg.