I’m in a depression rut. For a long time I didn’t fully accept my illness. For a long time every day (or even hour) that I felt OK, I believed it was gone and I was better.
It’s a good thing that I’ve accepted I’m ill. It’s probably a good thing that I have more realistic expectations of myself and my mood but both have led to a heaviness, slowness, a drudgery. One day moves into another and nothing changes.
I fought it for so long but now fighting seems like a waste of energy.
So I drift along instead, on a current of apathy and sadness.
Depression robbed me of fun. It robbed me of energy and enthusiasm. It robbed me of happiness. It took my friends. It stole clarity. It stole smiles and giggles and music. And finally it took hope.