It is so easy to slip back into engulfing depression. Far too easy. I always believed that some how once I got over it I'd never experience it again.
How quickly things change.
Thick muddy depression. Where laughing people are to be despised and jealousy that they are happy reigns. Looking at people in the restaurant yesterday getting completely ratarsed and more excitable it just feels like I am becoming distant again.
So easy to fall back.
So easy to hide. To turn in on myself. To retreat into my shell. My multi-coloured rainbow striped shell. To feel like poking myself on my breastbone, the really sensitive painful bit, just to release some of the heavy weights that seem to be constantly on my chest. At one point I hurt myself on my chest to try and release the feeling, now I have painful twisted scars as they didn't heal quite right.
The world is cold.
Colder than I ever believed. Futile attempts at warmth at fruitless. Smiles just come and go, never stay.
I just want to sleep. I haven't got the energy to do things, yet I still do them. I can't stop functioning. So I'm doing the motions of a functioning person whilst feeling rubbish.
All the therapy in the world can't stop depression. I'm certainly not about to try medication again. All the things that therapy taught me, all the warning signs, the strategies. They all assumed that the "psychosis" was the big thing. Or that I'm angry. I'm not angry, I haven't got the energy. The voices are all doing sloooooowww ttaaaalllkkkiiinnngggg but that isn't *too* bad. I'm very in touch with reality, it is an utterly depressing reality but it is real. No-one can argue that I'm believing the wrong things, that I'm too out of touch with the "perceived reality" of "normal people". I'm sad. Sad. An easy word to say, but a word filled with dread. And darkness. Easy to type too: left hand 4th finger, little finger, middle finger. Sad. If my blinds were open, I'd see squirrels leaping through the leafless tree outside, being seemingly happy. I can't deal with that, so my blinds are shut. Just a window shaped area of light coming through the blinds to lighten my room.
Last time I felt this depressed it ruined me. Ruined my plans for me in the world. Slowly but surely I made a new person, a "Me #2". I found the world to be difficult but manageable. I'm studying, working, being busy. And inside I'm petrified that this depression will ruin the newest me. Quickly and easily, just like the last time. And though I eventually returned with a new me last time, I'm not so convinced I can do it again. A "Me #3" seems infeasible. Impossible. And too much like bloody hard work.
Depression passes. I know that. It is just so hard to get to the point where it has passed. I'm too tired to do this. I'm too tired to attempt to end it all too, which I suppose is a blessing in disguise as it rules out an avenue of thought I don't want to (or maybe I do, but I know I shouldn't) meander down.
It appeared so quickly. The head fog, the slowness, the constant weight on my chest and shoulders. The muddy waters of depression, where the last thing I want to do is live my life. I just want to sleep. Hide from all the busyness and happiness and noisiness of the world.