Yesterday, I alluded to the fact that I am currently in a depressive episode, one that was preceded by shadowy nightmares.
Well, the shadows caught me. I lie in them at 4:30 this morning, having only slid into an uneasy sleep about 4 hours earlier. Four hours is about the best I can hope for when the depression is this bad.
My body aches with fatigue, the physical form wanting something the troubled mind can’t give. The cat unhelpfully pokes my face, wondering why I am awake but not moving, or else wanting to crawl beneath the blanket because she thinks it is a game.
I stare into the darkness, dreading the day, wondering how I am going to do what I need to do when I can’t even find the energy to stand up and shower.
Everything seems slower, but only because my brain is quagmired in darkness and my body faltering with fatigue. Even writing this is a struggle, like trying to fit together jigsaw pieces by feel instead of sight.
The cat has given up at this point and returned to her bed.
The empty pain, the hole I feel where only days before a functioning human had stood, darkens everything. I know I have been here before. I know it gets better. I know in a few days I will come out of this.
But it doesn’t feel that way. The darkness in my brain, the lies my demons whisper, they hide the light I know is coming, making me feel like it actually isn’t coming at all, like it will never come again.
But I know that is a lie. I know that it gets better, that I will get better. And that is what I keep repeating to myself as I struggle through the shadows.