Next Week It’ll Make Sense

Okay. So, I know depression lies. But it also impairs. And so people who telly ou you acn think your way out of it are wrong.

My therapist says I can feel my awy out of it, but I have to stop criticising myself to let that happen. And there’s another thing that I can’t do.

The criticism isn’t verbal. It’s sonsory. My lungs say “Ihate you” by crushing themselgves. My heart says I want to die by flinging itself against the back of my throat. Constantly. Monotonously. Sickeningly. It hurts and I can’t make it stop.

And my brain isn’t whispering “I’m awful.” It’s freezing. Coming up with blank spaces and error messages when I softly sob abd beg it to please do my jobs. Take kare oc my kid. Get them out of bed. Make them breakfast. Pack their lunches. Drive them safely. Resobpond to their conversation. Look at them. Just look at them. Please, brain. Please.

And it just won’t.

And I breathe through my nose and push myself forward, and take the humblings as I wander through the house, through the community center, through the day. I forget more things than I remember. I lose the trail of conversations and the reason why I came into the room and have absolutely no sense of why I woke up today at all.

IT’s all in my head. I’m just too hard on myself. I just need to be patient and accept that some days, some weeks, some sickening slides into dark, wet pits are natural. Totally fine. If I can just embrace it, I’ll be fine.

But I can’t. Every nerve in my body is screaming for comfort, and I can’t find any. Food has no tasete. Conversations have no warmth. Hugs don’t even reach my skin. I can’t. My brain can’t process any of it. Just pain.

I don’t konw what to tell you so you won’t worry about me. I have no connection to the ground. I can usually see my way out of things, even if I don’t like the answers. But this is one of those times I ca’nt see anything. I can’t look at my kids like this. I can’t even pretend today.

They say that something like 80% of depressive episodes resolve themselves within 2 weeks. All you have to do is outlast it. And find someone to feed the kids.

My greatest fear is that one of these will happen when Devon is away. Or that one day he won’t come back. I spend a lot of time pushing away those thorughts. And trhying to push away the never-satisfied rage and dysphoria that beats him up and does it’s damndestes to fulfill th e prophecy.

Am I going to be fine tomorrow? Sometimes I am, and then it all seems so silly. I can start rebuilding and wipe my brwo and say wow, that was close. Ir huh; that wasn’t as close as it felt. I dn’t know.

I was doing all the things. Exercising. Scializing. Medicating. Therapizing. Having projects and goals and hopes. Feeding the cravings. Saying no to the really bad ones. I was trying. Really, really hard. Didn’t help. It comes on anyway.

It’s very humbling. Like shitting your pants in publisc.

And you have to keep going. Somehow. YUo have to stop crying and kepp going. Do those things so your credit card doesn’t get cancelled and your husband doesn’t leave and you don’t turn into that thing that can’t even try any more.

Yur body and brain are so tired, but you have to keep going. Don’t stop.

Don’t stop. Okay? It gets better every single time.

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