My depression never really leaves me. It hides at times, plays hide-and-seek. But it’s always there, somewhere. Those are the easy times, when it hides.
The hard times are like now, when it roars, when it touches everything, when it is relentless.
The days when I want to sleep, but can’t. Because I’ve already slept as much as I could. I slept until my body woke up, and said, “I’m done sleeping!” Over 28 hours of sleep in the past 3 days. Over 9 hours of sleep most nights for the last 10 nights.
My body’s done sleeping. I couldn’t sleep right now if I tried. I could curl up under the blankets, get nice and toasty, and stare at the ceiling, crying, ‘cause I still couldn’t sleep. I’m stuck. Wide awake. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.
This morning I’ve done laundry (folded one load, put one load in the dryer, and started a 3rd load in the washer), and it’s only 0824 hours. I’ve already been picking up stuff around the house. Out of desperation, more than anything else. Desperation to pass the time. To get through the time. To kill time. Because.
When I can’t get time to move past me, my mind explodes. Into a thousand stories, a thousand scenarios, a thousand worries, a thousand fears, a thousand memories, all at once. What I should be doing to improve my technical abilities. I should be writing. I should be working on the house. I should be washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen floor, running the vacuum, cleaning the windows of the car, watching the news, exercising, stretching.
I worry about her. Her knee is not doing well. I worry about Michael and Steve. I worry about the computers at work. I worry about everything. Until everything becomes a fight or flight problem. Until I border on the edge of a panic attack.
At this time of year, that’s where I live. On the edge. The edge of the cliff of depression. The edge of striking the ground after a long fall. The edge of curling up in a ball, and shutting the world out until spring. The edge of throwing everything in the house out in the trash and starting over, trying again. The edge of getting in my car, and driving somewhere. Anywhere. And never coming back. The edge of everything.
I could take a walk. That would burn an hour. Kill an hour. An hour I wouldn’t have to deal with. An hour’s peace.
But I know, even on a walk, my mind will never stop. I’d do the walk, and return to my house, and still be on the edge of everything. All the walk would do is kill an hour.
Did I mention I’ve started doing laps on the staircase in the house? I have. Did 19 laps yesterday. Will do 20 laps on Wednesday. Put my music on, plug my ear buds in, and kill enough time to do 20 laps on the stairs.
That’s what everything becomes. How do I get through the time. How do I hang on. How do I survive. How do I keep going. Because I know. I can’t sleep through it. I’m all slept out. So, I try to find things to do. I have to find things to do. Because.
And my depression roars.
And everything. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every moment of time. Becomes a challenge. A test. Another moment, another heartbeat, another breath, I have to survive.
I know. I know. Sometimes it’s useless to try to explain. Sometimes, there aren’t really any words to explain the demon I live with. The darkness that’s welded forever into my soul. Sometimes, I know most will never understand. And I’m happy with that. That’s as it should be. No one should live with this. No one should have to live with this.
And I know there are those out there who understand.
And my soul cries tears of agony for them.