Each Day Is Different.
Some days it comes in the form of sadness.
Only I’m usually not sad about myself. I’m sad about how my life isn’t as bad as my brain wants me to think that it is. I’m sad for the people who have problems that far surpass my own. I’m sad for the families that lost lives, for all of the broken hearts. For children without parents. I’m sad wondering that if there was a god, why does he punish the good ones? I’m sad watching other people’s lives fall apart. I’m sad for the people that I can’t save. I’m sad that I ended up being exactly what I never wanted to be. I’m sad that I’m too weak to fight the demons. I’m sad that I wasn’t good enough. I’m sad that I’m not good enough. I’m sad .. laying there helpless, watching the fire burn out.
Some days it runs like an opioid through my veins.
These days, I am entirely numb. I wake up, a zombie from the day before. Exhausted. I hit snooze a good four times and lie there wondering if I really need to get up today. How badly do I need a job? I count the days to the weekend. After the fifth snooze, I convince myself to get up. The shower is as hot as it goes in an attempt to make me feel something. Anything. Or maybe wake me up. Snap me out of it. My drive to work is a short period of footwork and halfway through, I realize that I haven’t paid attention in miles. I’m in a daze. I let half my cigarette burn out. I wouldn’t have even noticed if the smoke hadn’t clouded my vision. (Did I mention that I’m tired?) I spend my day drowning myself in work and ignoring anyone close to me. I respond in short answered text messages until I make it home, at peace with the fact that I cannot feel enough to make it to the gym today. At some point, I fall asleep.
Some days it comes as heart palpitations.
I wake up in complete and utter panic. What time is it? Have I overslept? I really need to get my shit together. I need to be better. I need to be the best. I spend my drive to work imagining being involved in horrific car wrecks and other unrealistic situations. In an attempt to ease my anxiousness, I’ve smoked entirely too many cigarettes. I’m shaking uncontrollably from a nice anxiety/coffee cocktail. *lubdub-lubdub* My heart squeezes. It’s double beating again. I try to relax, but at this point, I’m too late. The pain in my chest has spread to my shoulder. I begin to panic again. Am I having a heart attack? Am I overreacting? At work I wonder how long I have to be perfect at my job until they don't need me anymore. I wonder what I’m doing wrong because there has to be something. I wonder how I ended up where I am. Why am I not where I planned on being? Why aren’t I farther in life? When am I going to be enough? Will I ever get my fucking shit together?
Other days it comes as hot blood.
I’m irrational from the second that my eyes open. Why the fuck can’t I sleep in anymore? Whatever. I get ready for work and am in disgust of the woman in the mirror staring back at me. Look what you turned into. How much weight have you gained now? Will you ever stop breaking out? Hurry up and throw on some clothes so you’re not late and lose your job. Every failure at work is another blow to the stomach. I’m never going to get this. How many times can I fuck this up until I finally get it? No wonder you can’t get anything right. Look at this pathetic person you turned into. You’re supposed to be perfect. You were supposed to be strong. Nothing was supposed to get to you. Better build those walls higher next time. Better heal these scars and get stronger. And don’t even THINK about talking to anyone about your feelings. I burn off what feels like twenty-five years of built up aggression at the gym. After I’ve showered, I lay in bed and stare at my ceiling replaying every time I’ve ever fucked something up in my head. Every time I’ve said the wrong thing. I blink and my alarm goes off, ready to fight another day. And some days it comes as a sense of longing.
I dream of a big, beautiful ocean. The sun is setting along the horizon. I watch the tide roll in, and as the waves splash my feet, I wake up. My room is cold and dark. I don’t have to be up for another few hours, but I can’t fall back asleep. I hear the leaves brush across the ground outside, and I want to be anywhere but here. I remember all the beautiful places that I’ve traveled and how badly I want to be there again. What I would do to wake up in walking distance to an ocean. How relaxing that would be. To feel so at home in magical places. My heart sinks. I remember being happy. I remember chances, and mistakes, and love. I remember promises we made to never give up. Today, I’ve forgotten all of the bad. My past was better than my present. I begin to wish that I had done things differently. I’m drowning in regret. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time. I spend my day checking airlines. I need a vacation. Even a quick getaway, I tell myself, would make me so much happier. I’d find peace in that.
The thing about being “depressed” is that it took me my entire life to admit that there was even an issue. I wouldn't even go as far as to say that I’m “healing”. I haven't even begun. I’ve posted this on a website that I never go on in an attempt to hide any type of feeling from people who know me well. I guess there’s comfort in knowing that even if you don’t want to talk about it, you can write about it, and you can pretend that you're not the author. That you’re reading someone else’s story.
Until you’re ready.
