Depression…

Feeling that soul sucking dark hole hovering around the edges of my awareness, following my every step, lurking , waiting to trap me . Making my anxiety burn brighter as I know it’s there, it’s going to suck at my steps as I pass. Trying to keep my head up and keep walking to the love of life I know I have but I’m scared.

It’s right there with me, matching my stride and even though I know it’s there it’s going to get me, catch up while I’m busy trying to live and pretend it’s not malignant.

I feel like I’m trying to appease it, feeding it bits of my brightness, smiling and laughing over the top of it – but when it gets me I know it’s going to hurt, it’s going to be bad and I can’t avoid it or pretend it’s finally my friend and isn’t going to smash my life and my dreams.

Again.

I’m not sure if I am going to be able to get up after this one, but I feel this way every time. I’m so tired of fighting, but I say that every time and tired or not the inevitability of it flooding me is dragging at my steps.

It’s going to wait until I have taken my eye off it and it’s going to drown me, like it always does.

This time I might have something to help me cling on. There maybe a circle of people who know this enemy. They might be able to help me keep my head above the foul stuff siphoning off my optimism, there may be a strength I can lean on a very little bit.

I have looked for some support online, I have found first one, then two, then a few more people who may have enough strength at the moment to lend me a little of theirs in bits and pieces. People that might care, a little.

Problem I have is in reaching out and asking for help. I can’t do it. I’m so worried about appearing weak – or vulnerable. Then it’s so tiring explaining how I feel, why I feel this way . Exhausting to reassure the people offering help that they have made a difference.

Meeting the expectations and hopes that the people that care have, that I’m feeling better,

Not worrying those that really love me is a very deep seated problem that I need therapy for, there’s a lot behind that and that in itself causes some terrible anxiety.

Hoping I can hide from it for a while longer, so I don’t have to face it at all. I know it’s not realistic but I can’t break the cycle.

I need to help myself and keep the real picture in my mind. I need to breathe.

I’ll go and look for techniques to practice to get me through the next few minutes, then that leads to hours and that on to days.

But I can’t hide forever and I just don’t know how to handle the malignant filth locked inside me that causes all this.

Writing helps me keep it contained but it’s spilling over , swelling and blurring the lines.

I hate this.