My brain is swelling. My bones are sinking. My eyelids… I can barely keep them open. I want darkness, I want cozy blankets, and a tube of hot chocolate sliding down my throat. I need to feel the warm blood that’s keeping my heart beating without the hassle of lifting a mug to my lips.
This is my depression.
Reaching this point in my mental health and the lifestyle that helps me deal with it has been a crippling whirlwind of every natural disaster you could think of. The relentless tsunamis. Heart-stopping earthquakes. Torrential hurricanes. A whirlwind of tornadoes. The emptiness of droughts. And the hopelessness of famines. The perfect storm of everything that could flip me upside down and tear me apart from the inside out, that’s what my depression has felt like.
Metaphorically, for the most part. We don’t talk much about the physical toll mental illness can have on you, but that’s a conversation for another article.
Right now, I’m living my dream. I write for a living, I set my own schedule, I’m making more money and more goals every day than I could have ever thought possible. I have a man who loves me, a family that adores me, and a future that’s waiting for me.
But I feel nothing.
I can’t bring myself to work through the simplest of tasks or take that step on the road towards my next goal because my insides are nonexistent. I can’t feel my own heartbeat, I can’t hear my own breath. And beneath my sensitive, uncomfortable skin, I am empty.
Normally, these days end with me complaining of a headache and hiding away beneath the covers waiting for my boyfriend to finish working so we can nap or watch a movie. But I wanted to try something different.
Not out of hope or encouragement — I am in NO way motivated to write this at the moment and it will be a legitimate miracle if this piece makes it anywhere (I see you, Medium).
I’ve just become so angry at my depressed self. She does nothing. She feels nothing. She accomplishes nothing. I am fed up with letting her run my life into the ground only to struggle out of another episode and realize I’m lightyears behind schedule, drowning in to-do lists.
That is why I’m trying something new. And if it doesn’t work out, at least I didn’t let myself curl up into the fetal position preparing to give up on all things living. At least I didn’t let myself drown.
So here goes, my journey writing through my depressive episodes. Each and every one of them.
Stay tuned.
