Before typing out this post, I spent weeks writing it in my head.
Confused snippets of sentences and fragmented paragraphs ran tracks around my mind, rummaging through the clutter to find an empty space to sit. Words would explode then melt back into the black.
The chaotic race would eventually exhaust me, tire my lids, and quiet my brain. Then I would sit with remote in hand, clicking buttons repeatedly to find some mind-numbing TV show. I spread out on the couch, hopeless, bags under my eyes holding the weight of my world. I would shut down and disconnect from the reality of the home I am trapped in.
I become a shell.
This pattern is nothing new to me because this pattern is my every day.
This pattern is my depression
From the moment I wake until the moment I succumb to slumber, I am a constant fury of emotions—an F5 tornado of inner turmoil. Bursts of self-righteous brilliance give way to earsplitting silence. Eruptions of confidence flow down mountains of self-doubt. Inside, I have no control.
There is no overseeing authority over my constant low self-esteem, my constant mistrust, my constant anger, my constant sadness. There’s no box caging my endless loneliness, my endless disbelief, my endless bitterness. Every day, I am engaged in a battle with the other Annamarya—the one who sees nothing but a terrible person, a person who’s just a stain on the lives of those around me. To say I don’t like myself is an understatement…
Why I’m Letting The World Know About My Depression