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Depression is a rumor, until it is reality,
Depression is, when you're in it, absolutely ridiculous, because it seems to be the most important thing in the world when it's happening. At the same time, it robs the world of any importance, as if nothing could ever happen again. It is a nightmare of infinity wrapped in cellophane.
It is remarkably invasive, a highly honed, weaponized virus of the mind.
It's the familiar feeling of drowning, of disappearing in frothing acid.
Everything's fine, everything's fine,
I'm someone else's ghost in someone else's body.
I never know when the colors will come back. I never know if this will be the one that wins.
Clinical depression will often do whatever it wants with you.
It has no rules or code or fairnes...
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It's a liar that sells truth: a false reality that says how-I-feel is who-I-really-am. And when a grafted lie overruns the truth, it doesn't matter that I have "every reason" to be fine: the lie has switched every goalpost and sunk the baseline.
The thing is, when I'm hit with depression, I already know what to do. I know I have to fight for air. I know I have to crawl for every inch of territory that's stolen.
