I’m still here. I guess. Still here, with little to say. Today I went to the grocery store, the bank, and the drug store. I walked through the park and rented a movie. I ate a burrito and drank a glass of wine. I can’t explain it but I know the depression is returning. I’m scared. The last wave changed me.
My girlfriend asked me last week “what happened to the reader, writer, runner, librarian Mike?” Depression destroyed that person. I don’t have much left. This time, the depression may leave me with nothing.
I don’t want to go through that again. I can’t go through that again.
I wish I could explain just how claustrophobic I feel right now. There’s someone else living inside of me, forcing me to think things I never imagined were possible just a few months ago.
I’m so lonely. I’m thinking about my family. I haven’t talked to any of them in months. I hope they’re okay and not worried about me.
It’s hard to form thoughts into words. When I focus on the emotions, my head begins to spin–I begin to spin. I wonder if any of you have felt like this before. I’m still here. But I feel like an empty shell.