I keep a blog mainly to keep track of my struggle with depression. I have depression. I’m sick of saying I have depression. Depression is nothing but a mood to a lot of people. I have an illness that is ‘nothing’. I have been completely out of service for over a year now, for ‘nothing’. It’s an invisible personal ghost of transparent tar stuck on my face, my arms, my legs, and on each of the circumvolutions of my brain.
I’d give anything to get rid of it. I’m sick of having to justify myself, to explain that there’s a reason why I’m pinned down on the floor, that this is not a whim, that I’m not lazy or taking a sabbatical, that I’m suffering, trapped, stuck.
It’s not about showing my wounds and saying with a dramatic gesture “look how I bleed“, because this is not even like bleeding, this is more like being slowly drained out by a microscopical mosquito that never sates. You’re equaly anemic but nobody sees the damn thing that may or may not be behind your left knee sucking the life out of you.
I’m not like this, this is not me, it’s a mosquito. Yes it is there, I swear.