It isn’t often that my depression gets the best of me. I’ve been conditioned to keep it in check, keep my eye on the immediate concerns. I’ve lived so long knowing that things will work themselves out in the end.
Sometimes something triggers a feeling that I’ve buried deep. And all that effort is undone.
I wish I had somewhere I could call home. I miss my friends. My real friends. I’m scared that I don’t know how to connect with people anymore. I know I’ll never be alone, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never quite keep those who are truly important to me very close.
I’m not making progress. I feel like I’ve become stagnant. I used to be much different. Better. I don’t know where I went, and I don’t know who took my place. I don’t recognize the boy in those old photos. And I can’t see him in the mirror.
I’m sad. I’m broken. I can’t fix it.