That all too familiar feeling creeps back in.
After having a brief reprieve, it returns to try to sink its teeth into my soul once more.
It’s heaviness.
It’s slowness.
It’s fatigue.
It’s numbness.
It’s nothingness.
People typically associate depression with sadness, but sometimes it’s just the absence of feeling.
It’s merely existing instead of living.
I am a shell of myself; here but empty - simply on autopilot.
There is not one reason why I “should” feel this way.
But it’s there and hard to ignore.
In fact, it took a week of Disney World 24/7 to make me mostly forget this depression and to make me feel anything at all.
I hate this and I always wonder what I did wrong.
I hate the mother and wife I am when I am not giving it my all. I feel like I’m shortchanging everyone.
I hate the fight; the fight to stay awake when all I want is sleep and the fight to sleep when my mind wants to race.
I hate the fight with my own mind to try to regain control.
I hate the fight to keep going when It feels like a losing battle, but it's one I know I can never give into.
From the outside looking in, nobody would see the pain that lies beneath the surface.
Nobody sees the cruel tricks my brain plays and the anxiety that makes my skin crawl.
I hide it well most days, going through life like I’m acting out a play.
I know my parts and the way the lines should read.
I am a convincing actress when it comes to portraying normalcy.
The answer to the turmoil is more medication adjustments.
I begin to feel like a puppet; controlled by my medications, looking for the one to make me come to life again.
Hating that this is my reality, but knowing that they ultimately keep me alive.
Knowing without them, I lose my will to fight this seemingly never-ending battle of the mind.
As I swallow the tiny pills, I hope that they will bring back the feeling of life that I got a taste for before the darkness crept back in.
It’s a cruel joke; a tease.
The ultimate mind game that is depression.