Time. It doesn’t end, no matter how much you want it to. Yet in the darkness, it passes unnoticed, seconds and minutes and hours blurring together until you don’t even know what day it is. Or else you just don’t care.
You sit down. A thought catches you, and next thing you know you’re laying down two hours later, your mind still trapped in the darkness.
And in the midst of my anxiety, in the midst of my depression, the failures of my past cut through time itself to haunt me in the present. Night turns to day turns to night again. And sometimes you want it all to end. You want the fake faces, silly sentiments, and endless pain to end. The worst of it is that you don’t know how long the pain will last when you’re in a depression.
But every one of these endless minutes that passes, one into the other, is a minute you are still here, and another minute closer to the depression passing. I have survived every one of my worst minutes and so have you. You just have to survive these days turned to nights turned to days.