Depression is a bitch.

I say this repeatedly.
I will continue to say it until the day I die.

It robs you of joy, of happiness, of showing the people in your life whom you love that they are enough, despite the fact that you remain depressed.

I don't understand it.
And honestly...I don't know if I ever will.

Huh.
Maybe that's part of what is driving me crazy.
My mind is analytical, I think critically, my brain is set to solve and improve and grow.  Generally speaking, I don't accept things for what they are.  I am forever looking for ways to make things more efficient, to save time, to work smarter not harder; whether that's in the workplace, for those around me who I love and know are capable of so much, or even my own personal areas of growth.  I don't give up, once I improve at one level, I don't see it as enough, I know it can get better, be better, do better, and I look and look and look for ways to make it so.

So maybe I wrack my brain trying to understand depression.  Where it came from.  What makes it tick.  Why some days it's worse than others...

Right now I feel in a slump.  I can't sleep.  I'm tired, but even being tired doesn't allow me to fall asleep easily, much less stay asleep.  I feel like I'm okay one moment (usually when I'm distracted by something) and then when I'm shoved back into reality, that suffocating dread falls over me and there's nothing more I want than to die in that moment.

Like right now.

Here I am, sitting, one of my favourite shows playing in the background as I do research for scholarships to help fund my tuition as I go back to school, back in the same area as the love of my life, and yet...I want to die.

It's this overwhelming urge to just end it all.  End this constant mental torture, this never-ending battle that I fight day after day after day, never winning, rarely gaining ground, though mostly losing ground.

And you want to know how fucked up I am?
When I see news of the next well known person who committed suicide and I'm jealous of them.  Jealous that they followed through with it.  Jealous that they don't have to suffer anymore.

I just happen to be one of the special cases of a living catch 22.  I want to die, but I am absolutely terrified of death, so guess what wins at the end of the day?  Yeah.  Me, still alive.

And I can't explain this to people.  I can't tell them I have a death wish.  Because then it's slapping the people I love in the face.  Telling them I want to die is translated in their minds to think 'I'm not enough.'  Even though that is not at all the case.

These are my demons to fight.  My battles.  They existed before you entered my life, and should you ever leave it, they will continue to exist.  Your presence may help drown out their voices, but it does not silence them completely.


I feel sick to my stomach.  There is so much I cannot control.  This suffocating sadness.  My body and all its glorious malfunctions.  Why I feel dizzy day in and day out, and some days feel extremely nauseous for absolutely no reason.

I'm tired of it all.
I'm tired of fighting.  I know, I know, I've said that so many times before.  And yet I continue to fight, but never prevail. 

Honestly?
If someone could prove to me that suicide wasn't a sin, and if I was ever actually sure of my salvation, I don't know if I would fight for one more day.