What a low feels like

If you’re hoping to read a post poignant with meaning and sprinkled with metaphors and hope, look away. This is probably going to be a bare and raw write up with no artistic value or literary merit of any kind. You see, I’m at that low in a trough where you lie at the deepest point in the pit wishing you didn’t exist because you’re so tired of trying to dig your way out. But that’s the problem. You try to dig yourself out but only fall deeper and deeper. There’s no escape.

I’ve dealt with depression and dark days throughout most of my life, and honestly I thought it would get easier as I got older. It’s quite the opposite actually. And now that all I see is darkness around me because things have gone south, it just makes it all the more worse. I feel so uncomfortable in my own body, like the wind’s been knocked out of me and I’m gasping for air. My tears have found a permanent place right behind my eyes, just waiting for the slightest sign to cause a tsunami. Everything just feels so wrong and I have no idea what to do to make it right. In fact, it feel like I shouldn’t even bother trying because I’m not worth it. It’s my own fault that I am suffering the way that I am, so I probably deserve it.

There’s also an enormous sea of guilt, because my pain in the vast degree of suffering in the world is as insignificant as my existence in the universe. It makes me feel worse than I already do. I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve experienced pure happiness. It could be because I’ve stayed in the blackness for so long, and it just keeps getting worse with every passing year. How do I make it stop. How do I make it okay. Will it ever be okay? Is that even possible? I’m scared, so so scared it’s only going to get worse, that next year this time, this pit would feel like heaven.

I want to cross my arms and fall backwards into a pool. When I’m completely submerged, I want to hold my knees so that I sink right to the bottom. And then I want to scream my lungs out.

© That Girl in the Fray, 2017. All rights reserved.

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