So, this is not a cry for help.
Not really.
And it’s not a stop on the pity pot. I don’t need ego strokes. I don’t need hugs.
Not really.
They wouldn’t help.
This is clinical depression.
There is nothing wrong in my world.
Not really.
We got a bunny last night, and when I can gather the strength, I’ll give you some big funnies from that.
This morning, I heard her sigh. So sweet! I really wanted to feel something, but I couldn’t.
When I woke up today, I just didn’t want to BE. The feeling of utter dread in my stomach was unbearable. The hopelessness (wrapped around WHAT, I’ve no idea) was saturating every inch of my everything.
If I could have gone back to sleep and never, ever awakened, I would have. I didn’t have the strength to affect such an outcome; I could barely sit up. But I would have welcomed some crazy natural exit.
And, see, you can’t help. Because none of it’s real. What do you say? It’ll be okay?
IT ALREADY IS OKAY.
Yet, here I am.
It’s a mist. It’s the wind. We can’t grab on. We can’t shut it out. We can’t even see it coming.
How do we conquer that?
We can try to be supportive.
But i’m afraid, in the end, it’s every man for himself.
So don’t judge.
But for the grace of God, tomorrow it could be you.
Maybe it already is.
