Here lately I feel like two different people. Sometimes I’m the girl who’s getting better, who feels better. Some days, or at least some hours, I feel almost happy. Sometimes the weight of sadness in my chest is so small that I can ignore it. Sometimes I even enjoy things. Maybe not as much as I used to, maybe not as strongly as before, but I do enjoy them, even in this gray-washed world that I’m living in.
Other times, I feel like I’ll never get better. Like my pregnancy ruined my life. I don’t want to say that having my daughter ruined anything, but the pregnancy. That’s when I got sick. And even now that she’s here, I’m still sick. I’m scared that I broke my brain, and that there’s no way to un-break it.
On these days, I can hardly even remember what it was like to actually feel good. The depression is shouting at me, telling me that she’d be better off without me, telling me that my world will always be this gray, that I’m nothing and nobody.
I used to feel like somebody, but then I got sick, and for a while, during the worst of it, I could hardly take care of myself. I left my job, kind of shut down. My husband had to make me eat and shower and go to therapy. Now some days I believe that I am somebody, or at least that I’ll be somebody again. But then there’s days like this, when it seems like I lost myself and will never get myself back again.