I hate how I never know when it will come. I can go a day, maybe even two without feeling depressed, but then one little thing happens and it hits me in the stomach. I wish there were some kind of predictably to it. Some kind of pattern that I could be prepared for it, but there’s not.
I’m stuck waiting like a scared child for it to attack me. Hell, I don’t even feel like an adult anymore. I feel like…like I’m lost…no, drowning. I feel like I’m drowning. I can be surrounded by people in boats, but I’m drowning, and no matter how loudly I scream, they can’t or won’t hear me.
I know that I’m not the only one who has struggles. I know that so many others have it worse than me, but I just…God, I want some peace of mind. There is nothing harder than comingo to know that you will always be broken. You will always hurt. And the only thing you have to look forward to are the small moments of sleep that may come when exhaustion defeats the pain.