“Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.”– Stephen Fry
It’s been one of those days, and if it’s anything like the last half of yesterday then you can count me out.
It’s just one of those days.
I’d rather be down than manic, though. The mania can be dangerous and is exhausting on a whole other level. I in no way benefit from the mania anymore.
It’s strange because March/April is when I usually cycle and experience my mania. So, to be “depressed” or just down is unexpected and, to be honest, seemingly out there in left field.
Even my dreams lately (and I rarely remember my dreams) seem to be a place of ruin where nothing comes together, and sleep becomes a place of complete dissolution. This endless cycle is a prison, and also the only home I’ve ever known.
I have adjusted and adapted to this idea of “normalcy” rather well, but even that is not enough. In the end, it’s all just a matter of timing. Just got to wait for things to catch up.
When depressed, every day winds down to the same thing, the same occurrences, the same happenings, the same void that I go through on repeat. It returns with an almost obligatory vengeance.
My brain beats to a drum, it doesn’t tick to a clock. Still, I’ll remain on this eternal schedule of Hell. And they wonder why I don’t speak of God.
Blame it all on temperament, personality, or a chemical imbalance. In the end, it still falls back on me.