Forshadowing

One thing about depression is, it's always there.  Every minute, every day, even on the very best of days.  It colors everything, flavors it.  It may be quieter on some days, less noticeable, but it's there in the background.

On bad days...well...it's a screaming mess of dark neon lights flashing strobe-like in your eyes, screaming insults and epithets in your brain, rasping at you like a newly sharpened file wearing you down into dust.

Part of the trouble with good days is that people think you're fine, you must be, you're having a good day.  Maybe a string of them.  And no one wants to hear that the good day is, in part, an illusion.

And the bad days?  You know, after a while, no one wants to hear about the bad days.  It's always the same old thing, and it gets boring fast...and that's if you're experiencing it.  From the outside?  It must be about as much fun as watching paint dry.  Over and over again.

So we learn to shut up and smile and do our best to fake our way through it.

Me?

I'm hurting.  It's bad.  Lots of reasons why.  Lots of things feeding it.  I spend hours struggling to breathe.  I don't cry in front of the kids and I try hard to make sure this monster that's trying to eat me alive isn't turning on them, too. I am cold, I am tired, and I am lonely...and there's no end in sight.

Yup, it's January, rolling on towards February, and I'm fighting my brain and its chemistry knowing that this?  This is not the worst of it.  That'll hit in a few weeks, right on schedule.  Hold on tight, self, it's going to be one hellaciously bumpy ride.