Depression and anxiety are kicking my ass right now

16 months

depression has got its fangs into me again...god it sucks. every single time it happens it sucks just as hard. you can't get used to it. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

it feels like my heart hammering uncomfortably in my chest telling me that predators are near coming to destroy everything and there is no where to run to, no way to fight, nothing to do but cower in a corner and hope that it doesn't find me. it feels like all my dreams and hopes are ridiculous, and I'm stupid for ever even thinking them, there is no hope, no light, nothing happy or positive. and anything good it feels like I'm destined to destroy it. it feels like I am stupid, and fat and ugly and no one loves me and none of my friends care about me (they are only my friends out of pity, because they feel sorry for me). it feels lonely and filled with pain. it makes me want to cry, all the time, tearful and fearful. just leaving the house feels like an impossibility. I know there are things that I need to do, things that I HAVE to do, but I don't know how to start them or where to begin, its like climbing an impossibly high mountain. just showering and getting dressed  feels like it is an almost Olympian task. I feel like a failure of a mother. it feels like I'm being selfish and lazy and useless. I don't want to eat and I can't sleep, and when I finally do sleep, I certainly don't want to wake...it feels destined to last forever...

but it doesn't last forever. and it won't last forever. and I just need to keep remembering that. keep clinging on to that last hope. ride it out for a month, maybe two or three...and I'll slowly come back again. maybe sooner? hopefully. I'll give it a couple of weeks, maybe a month and then I'll get anti-depressants from the doctor.

Here is a poem that someone else wrote that says all of this far better than me.

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;

My friends forsake me like a memory lost:

I am the self-consumer of my woes—

They rise and vanish in oblivious host,

Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes

And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,

Into the living sea of waking dreams,

Where there is neither sense of life or joys,

But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;

Even the dearest that I loved the best

Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod

A place where woman never smiled or wept

There to abide with my Creator, God,

And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie

The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

By John Clare