Truth be told, the days behind me have been hard.
I sometimes forget depression lingers more like addiction and less like a cold. It never goes away; you have to find ways to cope and navigate each day, each mountain, each episode. Sometimes it stays longer than invited, and it’s hard to fathom how the fog will ever lift. Until one day it does.
In the meantime, it’s a struggle to get by. I’m tired all the time. Some nights I wake up having drowned the sheets with sweat. My joints ache and my muscles feel like sandbags attached to my bones. I cry in the closet where no one can bear witness. I’m mean and cold. I ignore people. I do my best to say, “I’m good! I’m fine!” in hopes I can convince someone other than myself.
And then I cope. I workout because it’s said to be good for lifting your mood and endorphins. But then I find myself at the end of yet another piece of food or staring at the empty bottom of another bottle of wine. I try to read even though focusing is difficult. I feel my whole body move through yoga asanas, I breathe into this body of mine, I hate every inch of it.
I tell myself this is coping.
In reality, this is misery.
My drive for anything is diminished. I find passion in nothing, desire for no one. I look around at this town which offers only emptiness, my chest heavy with a yearning to get out.
The well intentioned “keep your head up!,” “it will get better!,” “you are so strong!,” they make me want to cry out for a life I will never get to live. For the dreams for which I sacrificed only to find myself still chained to this wall. I want to scream in the faces of those who love me and ask, “Do you even see me?!”
I know you admire me, you think I’m amazing, that the girls are so lucky to have me, but what you don’t see are the shattered, ground up pieces of the woman I wanted to become.
So excuse me if I seem a little out of touch, like I am not the person I used to be, who you need me to be. I’m still navigating the murky waters of what my life has become.