Depression is a physical presence, with a fist clutching and pulling at my lungs and heart. Sometimes like a dark fog, a wave of pain that rolls over me, just when I thought that the day was improving. It's a great fatigue, which turns my limbs to lead, and my brain to a tangle of confused connections, broken synapses. The anxiety builds from the inadequacy, from the fear of conversation, knowing I don't have the words, have lost their meanings, and even the syntax. I find myself crying out, a twisted kind of mantra, and maybe that's one reason to hide in solitude because it releases a little bit of pain, to make the sounds, to keen.
Depression is a heaviness, too close, like blankets in summer.
Like trying to run in those dreams where your legs won't move. It's fear and anguish, and guilt, and impotence. It's shame, even though I know it's not my fault. To me it is waking up in the morning, and dreading the day. It is picking fights with my fiance because he didnt load the dishwasher right.