Depression,  Suicidal Thoughts

When Hope Becomes Intangible

There’s a platitude which asserts that depression is being unable to find joy in the things that normally engage, interest, and excite you.

I disagree.

Certainly disengagement from normal interests, increased negativity, and a generalized malaise are signs of depression – readily conceded.

However, in my experience? I’d argue that depression is something more nuanced and all encompassing in the pain it presents with. Mild/moderate depression makes it difficult to enjoy many things, but actual depression tends to take on darker hues: making it impossible to enjoy almost anything as it takes hold.

It’s the difference between a mildly overcast day obscuring your view of the horizon, and an immensely foggy day obscuring your view of anything more than a few inches from your face. And that inability to even conceptualize a freeing escape is what becomes more crushing than the more generalized misery itself.

Perhaps not the best articulation, but one tries.

I feel like I’m lost in that metaphorical fog, and have been for months.

Now…I’m used to struggling badly. That’s not remotely new. But finding that the reprieves of joy, laughter, and warmth have gone from rare to almost nonexistent? Feeling like those very emotions and reactions are slipping outside of my realm of possibility?

At some point it just… Shifted from feeling hope was elusive and rare, to feeling like it wasn’t even within my reach.

In this kind of moment… I just want to be done with this life. I’m trying to force myself to keep writing, to keep trying, to keep reaching out…

But the words rarely come, and matter to no one when they do. My efforts change precious little. And reaching out rarely even garners a response from those few I wish to lean on.

Maybe… Maybe its really just time to let my life wash away, like some waste on the shore being dragged away/beneath the waves.

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