Depression is a strange thing. For me personally, the dark feeling comes slowly but grows stronger over time. At first, I convince myself that I’m “just taking some time to be alone.” I ignore texts from friends, and I find excuses to avoid plans. I spend my days and nights alone, laying in bed sleeping when I’m not even tired or doing absolutely nothing at all.

In my life, I have often found myself falling in and out of depression. In the beginning, it is familiar and even seems comfortable. In fact, I very strangely find sadness almost addicting. Sometimes I wonder if living in sadness is how my life is supposed to be.

There’s never a moment when I am truly relaxed.

I can’t stand the way my body aches with self-hatred.

I often lay in silence while hopeless thoughts run through my mind over and over again.

I ponder over decisions that I cannot reverse.

I regret nearly everything I have ever done.

Depression has poisoned many aspects of my life including relationships, friendships, and has the ability to alter my future.

What really tears me up is while growing up, I wasn’t like this.

While sadness seemed to have the ability to hit me hard at times, I was always able to fight back and overcome whatever life tossed my way. I used to love being around people. Adventure was my middle name, and I was always ready to take on life. I cherished every memory and was thankful for every single day I got to live on this beautiful Earth. Unfortunately, over the last couple of years, my tight grip on a happy life has loosened greatly.

But I am still here. I am still alive and functioning.

Day after day, I reluctantly drag myself out of bed. I hastily throw some clothes on and go about my day. My life has become a sort of “just going through the motions” kind of thing, but I keep hoping that my will to keep living life will one day blossom into actually loving the life I am living.