The possessiveness of depression; the thick veil of darkness that seeps into every pore; the nothingness that seems to weigh on me like the world despite the paradox.
Therapy is hard at the moment. We are delving into unexplored corners, and I know the heaviness of these feelings is expected to a degree.
But I have uni and work to attend, deadlines and reports to write, and people around me who I need to maintain a façade of functionality towards.
My brain is taking me to dangerous places and my body is keeping me trapped inside of myself. My solution is to sleep to block out the noise, but these days even my dreams haunt me.
Right now, in this moment, the passive suicidality is strong. I am not actively planning and I am not unsafe, but I feel as though if I fell asleep and never woke up, that wouldn’t be so bad.
I can’t really tell anyone how I feel because there is no one to tell (my therapist is trying to get me to be more self-sufficient between sessions) – and I have a pretence I need to keep up too.
Let’s hope the fog lifts when the morning comes. I’m never sure how long I can last in these states for.