When Depression Returns.

It’s sad to see all the signs of my depression come back in full force, to recognize the resurgence of bad habits, to feel the anxiety and stress clawing it’s way up from my gut.

It’s heartbreaking to know, if I just slept more, if I went outside more, if I exercised more, if I ate healthier, if I took better care of myself, I’d be doing better.

It’s sad to think about all the progress I made, all the healthy coping mechanisms I formed, all the bad habits I stifled- all of it slowly eroding in the face of depression.

Sometimes it feels like I’m trapped in a cage of my own making. I’m watching the bleak, ink-black clouds of despair roll over my body, watching and doing nothing.

My analytical mind, my intellect, observes the resurgence of depression and a little voice deep inside says, “I knew it would be back. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

My heart, my soul, the burning hope in my chest begins to tremble and weaken. My survival instinct kicks in and shuts down all aspects of life except the ability to just get by.

I withdraw like a turtle into my shell, shutting out all people and experiences. I sit and stare and distract and overwhelm. I exist, but just barely.

Tears constantly fill my eyes, ready to overflow at any moment. My heart shudders, its perpetual strength threatened. My lungs constrict, my body goes numb. My energy evaporates as if it never existed.

The optimistic voice, the idealistic child inside, puts up a valiant effort. But one voice against an entire melancholic existence is bound to fail. The poor thing is crushed, obliterated, dissolved into ether.

My internal landscape becomes dust, ashes, a study of apocalyptic gray. Death and despair fill every nook and cranny, until there’s no space left for anything else.

The tiniest piece of me survives. A firefly, a pinprick spark, covered in dust. The light shines weakly, flickers, almost extinguishes. It hides, lying in wait, biding it’s time.

Everything settles into a stillness, a silence so absolute it’s as if the world ceases to exist. There is nothing. No light, no sound. No smell, no taste, no feel.

Just an empty universe, bleak and unyielding. At the very center, a glow so faint it can only be imagined. A mirage, a ghost.

The universe slowly grinds to a halt. The unending spin, the everlasting expansion ceases. The world stops. There is nothing.

There is a nothing so absolute, so complete, so final, it’s indescribable.

And then anticipation builds. Like an organism holding its breath. A seed planted and watered. A baby just born, a sunrise about to begin.

The anticipation grows; the silence and stillness tremble with a vast energy, a nameless emotion too large to contain.

The glow in the center of the universe doesn’t expand, but the light is blinding, brighter than a million stars. The light pulses, stretches, shakes off its lethargic hibernation.

And slowly, I open my eyes to face another day.