Thursday, January 28, 2016


For the last year(ish), I've been dealing with what I think of as functional depression. I take care of everything for which I'm responsible. I see to the needs of my family, even on days when I cannot see to my own. The house is clean, the bills are paid, the cats are fed. I manage, but all of it is done without much zest. I get through each day.

Today, I'm not sure I have it in me. I feel bleak and numb, and my body feels physically heavier than usual. Every small action feels futile. Every thought is clouded with doubt and despair.

At times like this, I turn to the fears that hold me in place. I think of the horrific pain I'd inflict on my family if I disappeared, the nightmare I'd impose on whomever had to clean up my mess. I try to think of anything other than myself.

I chant a little mantra I found online years ago: "The world does not need more ugly [sic]. Especially from me."

Which may or may not have the desired effect, I guess, given that depression itself is inherently ugly. On days like this, when I look in the mirror, I think "ugly." All of my thoughts are ugly. And it is very difficult, under such circumstances, to imagine that anyone around me sees anything other than ugliness.

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