Depression

Stay Afloat

I don’t know the exact point when things began to change. I felt so strong and confident about where I was and where I was headed. There was peacefulness to my existence. I was happy just being in the moment, knowing that the days ahead would take care of themselves.

I have a faint recollection of the melody playing inside my head, but I thought for sure it would not be a threat this time. Oh January, you never announce your arrival, and you never leave in silence. I always dread your visits. Why must you be so unkind?

I’ve spent the past several days trying to sleep it off, to no avail. I read the words of others, yet feel no reprieve. I breathe in deeply, breathe out with intent, and yet suffer a fear of tomorrow. Tomorrow always comes for me. That should bring comfort this late in February, but apprehension is all I have. I don’t know why I wake up each and every day, but I am not always happy for it.

The wonders of modern medicine intervene when I want to cry. I don’t cry. I think I miss that. At least I feel alive when I cry. But now, I only feel hollow inside, unmoved by the sunshine, I am alone, and indifferent. I am now most dangerous to myself, for I have no will to live. My will to die is still not stronger than my fear of dying, but for how long? The race is on. Again.

I guess all the medicine in the world won’t stop this cycle. There are pathways in my brain that have been used so often throughout my life that they are easier to use than all the others. I need to find a way to prevent their use. I think in the winter I become so fatigued that I have to turn on the autopilot just to get out of bed every day and get to work. Getting enough sleep is not possible for me.

I look forward to May.