Maybe If Im Productive Enough, Tomorrow Will Be Easier. Ill Sleep Better And Ill Crave Fruit, Not Candy.

Maybe if I’m productive enough, tomorrow will be easier. I’ll sleep better and I’ll crave fruit, not candy. Maybe if I’m productive enough, I can prove that I’m okay. See? I’m just like everyone else. I cook and clean and shower and work and do laundry and take out the trash and keep up with every annual appointment my doctors demand and and and and. Maybe if I’m productive enough, my to-do list will be shorter. I’ll have more patience and I’ll want to spend more time with the people I love. Maybe if I’m productive enough, it won’t hurt anymore. I’ll forget what he did and I’ll prove it didn’t break me. But today I’ll lay in bed, imagining all the benefits of acts I have no energy for.

I’m lost in my head again. Dirty dishes have been waiting for me for days. My comfort show has been wrung out and left limp. The only place I feel okay is my bed and everyone keeps telling me I need to get out of it. Don’t they know I know that? Don’t they know I don’t want my room to look like this? I don’t want to wear hats everyday to cover my greasy hair. I don’t want to wake up begging for it to be night again. I don’t want to spend hours typing and deleting and retyping messages asking for help when I don’t even know what help looks like. But I do. Because that’s what life is, right? Forcing ourselves to do the things we don’t want to do so we get the outcome we want. We go to school to land jobs that pay well, so we can live comfortably. We diet and exercise so we stay healthy and fit, so we can live comfortably. Except with depression, the comfort never comes. Even in the moments comfort flirts with me, I am always painfully aware of the darkness that lurks until it swallows me whole, again. And it will, again. And again.

What’s the point in opening up if no one ever stays

You think attention is love and that’s why you suffer so deeply.

Sitting with the guilt of depression like it’s an old friend. Work and chores and self care piling on top of me, forcing me to sink further into my bed. Where I’m safe. Where I’m sound.

The best revenge is none. Move on and heal yourself so you don’t become like the people who traumatized you.