It’s 7 a.m. and I am standing in front of the mirror. The heaviness I’ve been feeling for weeks is now weighing me down. My shoulders slumped, I don’t have the strength to do anything more than lift my head.
I stare at my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes are the battle scars of a silent war; physical manifestations of the unrest in my mind. I am exhausted. I am weak.
I continue to stare, confused. I am unrecognizable, a stranger to myself. I search for the light in my eyes, but cannot see it. A single tear has taken up residence and stopped just shy of falling. It forms a barrier and those that come after it cannot escape. They accumulate to form an unexplained wave within me. In desperation I begin to tread—it is a reflex–but my strength is compromised. I am caught underneath. I cannot breathe. I feel as if I’m drowning and I reach out hoping to be rescued.
Note from the author:
Depression is a bitch without feeling. Her presence creates shame, so we do our best to hide her. Only in acknowledging her existence can we begin to change how she affects us.