It's that time again. My depression is creeping back up on me. Or at least I think it's depression. Sometimes it's not really a sadness. Usually, I just feel empty, like a forgotten spaghetti sauce jar. The emptiness is what gets me. I'm just a husk. No emotions pervade my conscious, other than the ones that are floating about the room. I take those into me then spit them out to match the tone of the conversation. Then when I climb the stairs, they bleed away and I am back to my shell. I stare up into space and float. My mind skims across old wounds that have done nothing but fester through the years. I am not sure who I am in those moments. I could be the universe or maybe just stardust, floating. I can't tell, my mind swallows me, and I am left with my thoughts and unacknowledged pain.
The emptiness is heavier than anyone knows. It weighs me down so fully that even when it's lighter and not so immediate, I am afraid to breathe… to live a life worth living.
My depression has created a cocoon around me. I'm afraid I will die in it before I get the chance to finish my metamorphosis. Not literal death, though. No, I am terrified that I will stop fighting it. That my hope for happiness will die. That I will lose to it. I'm terrified that I will continue to live sitting in the passenger seat while that burly beast speeds through time and space. Will I be left to clutch at the grab handles as this monster, who is just as empty as I, passively yet still viciously (why so viciously?) drags me onward into the matte black of space? Will I float forever in this endless night?
I don't know if I have the strength to take the wheel from it. I hope soon I will though.