It’s crept up on me again and I didn’t see it coming.
Depression comes in a million different shapes and colors. You won’t ever find two depressed people whose descriptions match completely. To me, it feels like a dark cloud that tints everything a shade darker than it usually is. It isn’t only anxiety, or self-loathing, or sadness, or a gloomy feeling, or lethargy – it’s all of that and more.
I look in the mirror and where I usually find myself too fat, my butt too big and out of proportion, my hair too stringy, my nose too large, my breasts too saggy, my stomach too flabby and an awful lot of muffin tip, is now one big, unbearable piece of hideousness.
I talk to my friends and while I often feel like I’m just too much or not good enough, I now can barely contain my self-loathing, every word from my mouth sounding so much worse to me. Why do they even bother with me?
I go to work and my often dull job now seems hopeless and unbearable, like the kind of hell I both hate and feel I deserve.
I go to do something I love, that usually cheers me up, but now it only leads me to wonder why all the things I love are so boring, why I don’t have anyone to share them with, why I have to be such a dull person and I sit and dwell on it for so long that I end up not doing anything at all. And I still find myself so exhausted at the end of the day.
I try to remind myself of the things I have rather than the things I don’t have, think of my achievements rather than my failures, but it always leads me back to what (and who!) I’ve lost.
And all the time I keep waiting for it to pass. There’s nothing else to do, no cure, nothing anyone could say or do. It’s like a stomach ache. You can take pills and they may dull the ache for a short time, but they’re no cure. There’s hope, of course. I always know that it will pass, but I never know when. Until then, there’s nothing to do but to survive, to try your best and to pretend.