Sometimes Depression Hits

Sometimes depression feels like somebody has laid bricks over every surface of your body. The heavy weight that is not actually there is weighing you down. Sometimes if feels like you are swimming through a swamp in full denim. The trudging feels like it will never end. Sometimes it feels like you don't want to do anything anymore. The idea of walking down two flights of stairs to put some laundry in the washer isn't bearable. Sometimes depression is putting things off because it's too much to do right now.

Sometimes depression is sleeping more. It is never ending grogginess and fog that is like a cloud of sadness following you around and seeping into your bones. Sometimes depression is never being able to sleep. It is long nights of rolling over in bed, staring at the shadows the useless things on your desk make in early hours of the morning. Sometimes depression doesn't bother my sleep. Sometimes I wake up and I feel okay and I feel rested. Those days are rare.

Sometimes depression is looking at my favorite things and feeling nothing. It feels like I am missing the enthusiasm that makes me my usual self. Sometimes depression feels like I'm never going to be interested in anything again.

Sometimes depression hides. It doesn't like to live close to the surface. It likes to be a volcano waiting to erupt. When it erupts, colors change. Colors fade and blues seem a little less vibrant. When it erupts I don't like the sight of sunshine. When it erupts, moving feels slow and everyone else feels loud.

Sometimes depression is wrapped up in a blanket watching a TV series in the dark. Sometimes depression is deep gulping breaths because everything seems dark. Sometimes depression is there, and sometimes it isn't.