I had to have a Smee-like epi-whatsit last night before I understood one of the subtle tricks depression plays. When things are going badly I feel guilty for doing something that might make me happy. Obviously, since it is my fault that my life is out of control, feeling happy, even momentarily, is the sin of 'denial of reality'. I can not allow myself to take a nap when I'm tired because sleeping during the day is a surrender to depression. Neither will I eat or drink until I am dried out and shaking.
Well of course it is irrational, I know that, but depression speaks louder than words. It is a constant war, waking or sleeping I am on guard. I think about someone washed overboard in the middle of the ocean. You dog-paddle to stay afloat and you hope, but in the core of your heart you know that you can not win. Unless you are found you will weaken ever so slowly and finally drown, and the thot keeps returning "why bother, just get it over with".
Because the ocean, like depression, does not know about you or cares, it just is.
Which explains why while I enjoying blogging and facebook more and more it is becoming more and more difficult to write.
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