Everything feels dull.
The sunshine in May is supposed to feel warm and bright and soft all at the same time, but all it feels like to me? It is the same feeling you get when you go to your favorite restaurant and they’re out of your favorite item, or when you go to take a shower and you try to adjust the temperature but you just give up because you’re in a hurry so it’s tepid and unsatisfying and when you get out, the air clings to you.
I can’t even feel the sun, to be honest. I see it shine, but I can’t feel it anymore.
Why is everyone else able to soak up the glow of the sun? Why is it reflecting off of me like a mirror? I still feel like I’m stuck in January with wet slush tucked into my socks and grey clouds following me with every vividly visible, cold breath I take.
Pain doesn’t even feel good anymore.
I’ve bitten my lip raw to the point of not feeling anything anymore when I bite. I could not possibly cut myself. I can just see myself getting fired for something like that. “You show up here with cut marks on your arms, Katie? Really? Don’t be so dramatic. Cover your arms up and go take photos of people doing things. And if those photos come back shitty, I’ll make sure I gently slide it into conversation every once in a while in front of people so they, too, know how shitty your photos were. Also, you are bad at what you do.”
I’m so tired. I just want to sleep for like five days. I just want to be alone for five days.
I just want to be alone.
Being around people is damn exhausting. I’m so easily distracted. My mind can’t seem to focus on one task. Even now I’m switching between writing this, writing what I need to be writing for, and playing with the correction tape, and my phone, and thinking about 20 different ways to hurt or off myself. I’m being real with y’all. Thinking of ways to die is a pretty common thing in my head. It’s an “anywhere but here” mentality, and even if I change locations, the thought follows. It’s like it haunts me. I can’t be happy anywhere.
I feel my panic bubble under my skin.
Like when Harry and Ron and Hermione drink the Polyjuice potion, and their skin starts bubbling like angry water on a hot stove? That’s how the panic feels. It’s the most eerie, off-putting, distracting feeling in the world. I feel it wrapped around my clavicle bones and clinging deep on the inside of my stomach. It makes me lurch from time to time. What’s crazy is I feel like I go ghost white and pale and whatever, but I swear if I was dying I’d still keep color in my face.
I just want it all to stop. Everything. Just for like… a week… so I can mentally catch up to the physical world. It’s like I’m on a different plane of existence. I wish it came with invisibility. Let’s be honest, I just wish I was a witch in general.
But in all seriousness, I don’t know how much longer I can fight this depression. Every time I think I have shaken it, it comes back two fold. Like a monster made of hot tar. It just sticks and burns all the more. And I think it’s killing me.