I am spiraling.

The darkness keeps growing, keeps looming.

There is so much going on in my life that I am trying to sort, trying to figure out.
And I already live my life in a state of high-key stress, which comes across as being calm and collected all the time.
But to have the added stress of trying to figure shit out...I feel like I am constantly on the verge of going crazy.

Or maybe I am crazy.

This past week has been one of the longest weeks of my life.

I am unable to process.
Or to grieve.
Or to understand.  Anything.

I feel like I've been walking around like a zombie.
The last time I felt like this was years ago, back in high school.

July has been the worst month of the year for the past six years.
And it only continues to get worse.
Sorrow upon sorrow, horror upon horror.

Why am I still here.

What makes life worth living if I cannot process tragedy and grief.
If a singular month continues to pain me every time it comes around.

I have been confused and unsure for so many months now.
No clarity.
No surety.

And added pressure of things that are beyond my control...

I am breaking.

I am spiraling.

The darkness continues to suffocate and I am losing my strength in fighting.

I so desperately want to give up and give in.
To end all of this forever.

It would end the torment.
It would end my negative impact on those around me.
It would be better overall.

But I remain a coward.

Living in darkness and unable to let it swallow me whole.

Maybe someday I'll get there.
Be able to end the torture.
The unbearable sadness.
The unprocessed grief.

Unfortunately, today is not that day.


How very pathetic.

If you think something is too good to be true...

...it probably is.

I never asked to be depressed.
I never wished for it to happen, never romanticised it, never thought it would be fun.

I never asked to be low-key sad all the time.
Never asked to be constantly tired and running on next to no energy, despite how much or how little sleep I get every night.
I never asked for the people closest to me to be on the receiving end of how depression affects me.

It hit me tonight that I never asked for these things, never wanted them; and yet still I live with them on a daily basis.

I don't like being sad.

I don't like having no energy on a daily basis; much less being an introvert working in a people-facing job, which takes away more energy than I have to give.

I don't like not feeling things, only to feel psychotic and bipolar whenever I actually do feel things.
I don't like disappointing my boyfriend over and over and over again when it comes to making plans or doing things, when after a day at work, I know any other activity will push me over the line and things will only get worse (and damage our relationship in the process).
I don't like not being able to process things, because my mind is so foggy and occupied, that any clarity needed to process emotions is next to impossible, because I'm already distracted as it is.

Depression is a bitch.

Which I've said before.
And I'll say again.

It's a metaphorical vampire.
Taking life away, sucking energy and willpower and emotions.
It robs me of enjoyment, of living in the moment, of taking a moment to appreciate what I live and feel and experience right there in that second of time when I'm with the people I love and life isn't as horrible as it usually it.
It claws and tears and buries me deeper in the darkness when things happen that I cannot control, things I don't see coming, things I find myself unable to process or comprehend.

I am unsure how to continue.

With this blog post.
With life.

And I have been depressed for so long, I don't even remember what it used to be like when I was a child and things were innocent and carefree and happy.

Happy.

What does that even feel like?

That's not to say I haven't felt it in recent times.  I have.
But the happiness isn't consistent, it isn't long-lasting.

It's fleeting and momentary and as soon as I blink, it's gone.

I wonder if people know what a nightmare it is to live in my head.
Feeling trapped, like a ship lost at sea in a thick fog that never lifts, hoping against hope that someday it will and that I'll find my way to the shores of clarity and joy.
But knowing that that hope is basically futile.

Sometimes I feel so tired.
So tired and weary of being a burden.
Of having this sadness affect me to such a deep extent, that it causes damage to the relationship most important to me, rather than help heal it or make it grow in a healthy manner.
Tired of not being understood, of not being able to explain how I wish it would go away, how I wish I could magically snap my fingers and refill my energy levels to 100% and go go go.
Tired of being tired.
So, so tired.

Of making plans, of breaking them, of wishing I could conjure up time and energy to care, but never caring enough, never trying hard enough, never being able to do enough.

I hate being sad.
I hate not having energy.
I hate being in a stupor every day of my life and not being able to feel like the skies are sunny and clear in my head.


I hate the world.

I didn't choose to be sad.
I never asked for this.
I never wanted this.

And how I wish to God that it could just be taken away and my brain chemicals go back to a normal balance and I would remember what it's like to see the world clearly and feel happy and not be dizzy all the time (un-related to depression issue going on).

Fuck depression, man.