My depression right now currently does not care about me. Not about what I need, not about what I want, and not about how I feel.
It doesn’t care if I isolate myself to the point of not existing anymore.
It doesn’t care if the pain inside of my head and my hurt make me feel like the most broken, useless version of myself.
And it certainly doesn’t care enough to give me any hope in climbing out of it.
I feel like shit. This month sucks. This time of year sucks. The grief triggered a shit storm of chaos and destruction and it simply isn’t planning on easing up anytime soon.
I feel alone. I haven’t talked to pretty much anyone in any real kind of way in legitimately about a week. It’s the most awful feeling that there is…struggling…but doing it silently. Bearing the burden entirely on my own.
Withdrawing into complete nothingness.
I have therapy tonight in a little over an hour. It almost seems futile. Like at this point, why am I even bothering. I feel alone. I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe enough to truly be vulnerable with anyone, and I just feel hurt.
Depression doesn’t care what’s true or what isn’t true. It’s going to try to convince you of the lies you’ve built up in your head.
I want to have hope. I want to fight. But everything just feels so fucking heavy.
