I'm hanging in and on to the shrinking line of hope that tells me things will be ok. That life goes on, and I need to be in it for some reason. I know this is depression, I comprehend that it is an illness. But it really does mess with my brain and make me think and feel the strangest things.
So I remind myself of little things, play tricks with my brain by telling myself there is rest and an end in mind, when really I have no fucking clue where I am going or when I will be able to let down and be safe. When you can't trust yourself with being a steward of your life, well that is the scariest place of all.
And I know I'm being really honest here, and that may be a bad idea, but I tell myself that I will be missed and I believe it sometimes, but really inside me, there is no will left beside the will of others.
Then I get moments where I can rumble tumble through. And I do, every day really. I get out of bed, that is huge, I eat my meals and take my pills. Somehow this all constitutes living and is what I need to do. But it feels so empty, you know? Just damn empty...
I feel like I need to apologize for being so honest. But I won't. I know the things I say can be blatant, can wake and shake people, but I'm in it right now and I'm scared. Yet I know it will go on and I will go on just like I always do, but it isn't easy, it isn't at all.
I make lists in my head of the good things. The top of the list being R--the sweetest most loving genuine soul I know. Also on the list are the pups, the others in my life, peonies, and the smell of coffee in the morning. Pajamas, sad songs, and rich poems, and cake, and whiskey too. These all mean something, these all make up my life, and for today I am going to say that is enough. Even though it hurts and I feel like death, and it doesn't feel like enough, it's enough because there is no other choice.
There is nothing else to do but live.