It’s been a while since I added a post. At first it was because I couldn’t see any point. The blackness was overpowering and comforting. I let myself be consumed secretly, sending out a shell to walk around and smile with lips and interact.
But now the blackness has moved on and my inactivity is no longer because I’ve been particularly ill nor because I’ve had an amazing uplift and now consider myself free but because I’m stuck in the middle ground. I am grateful for the lack of torment, especially so after the darkness and after those minutes, hours or days when it all comes rushing back and washes over me in drowning waves, and at times allow myself a small glow of pride that I continue to fight but I am bogged down with ennui. I have fought enough to see the sun and feel it on my face but my legs are trapped in the mire, resolutely unmoving. The concrete that filled my torso and throat now fills my legs so I move neither backwards nor forwards. I suspect it fills my brain too because I find it hard to care.
I plod along. I make plans. I continue to hide away. I worry that depression has changed me and this is it now. It has left me unconnected and uncaring, walking, talking apathy. Trapped in no man’s land.
Or is this still depression?