Not waving, but drowning

Some days I feel everything. Some days I feel nothing at all.

I sat on the couch the other day and felt that quite possibly, this was the end.

I realized that without the state of permanent busyness, I was having to face the reality that my depression and anxiety was in fact gaining space at my table. In fact, they were now guests at the feast for which I was the main course.

And it was so irritating to know that I had let this happen, that I had seen some of the signs but I just hadn’t the energy to fight.

I had fallen hard.
From a great height, into a dark sea.

Pulled below by the fear of the unknown, by the lack of distraction, by the weight of possible failures and the pain of distance from family and friends.

I don’t believe I am alone in this either…

This is not drowning.
It is sinking.
There is a difference.

The more you fight, the heavier you feel – each breakthrough, each moment of possible relief and “I think today will be better” juxtaposes violently with the crippling lows.

Eventually, your will forsakes you and your bones refuse to move; it is easier to give in to the undertow.

It is easier to sink.

And sometimes, it feels beautiful.
Like re-reading a book that you loved.
It is known. It is familiar.
Your space in the dark fits perfectly.

We settle into the numb. We can hear the murmurs of those around us, but it doesn’t permeate. We are unmoved.

We start to question how far can we go before we will never need air again?

Winter can’t be coming if it never left.

I’ve spent the better part of my life fighting demons in the darkness my mind has created.  There is something inside of me that either leans to light or to dark and no in between. There is a fatalistic desire to entertain death. And pain. And anger. And feral screaming into the night.

It was born from tragedy. The loss of my brother.

It’s not something I talk about often because I don’t like the sympathy and I don’t want the judgement, or the well-meaning “help”. But some times, the key to unlocking how you are feeling is to actually unravel it. When I set myself the task of finding the right words to describe how I am feeling, it can often give me the right physical means of counteracting some of my triggers.

I also believe strongly that when I am open about my pain, I encourage others to do the same. Depression is not something to be hidden away, to be spoken of in whispers and hushed tones.

I wonder, a lot, what would I even look like without depression? And then I feel exasperated for not being bolder in my faith. And then I feel guilty for not giving myself a chance.

It is exhausting.

Right now, I’m making small, yet deliberate movements to shake myself out from “the under”.

If you’ve been feeling a sense of dread, anxiety and overbearing darkness, please know you are not alone…there is someone who can listen…even if you can’t find the words.



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