Sometimes, when you’ve been battling depression for so long, you lose sight of who you used to be. You forget what excitement felt like. What motivation felt like. What being fully present in your own life used to feel like before everything slowly became muted.
A week after my breakup, I invited my ex over. Part of it was loneliness, part of it was familiarity, and part of it was probably me trying to convince myself I could still feel something strongly. And for a moment, I did.
But underneath it was a realization I couldn’t ignore anymore: the distance that grew between us wasn’t entirely imagined. Depression had hollowed parts of me out slowly over time, and I hadn’t fully noticed how far gone I felt until I briefly felt something again.
That realization scared me more than the breakup itself.
Lately, life has felt less like living and more like drifting. Going through routines. Letting days happen to me instead of participating in them.
I’ve tried medications. I’ve tried treatments. Some helped briefly, others didn’t help at all. And somewhere inside all of that is the exhausting contradiction of depression itself: wanting desperately to take control of your life while simultaneously lacking the energy to reach for it.
That’s the hardest part to explain to people. Not sadness. Not even hopelessness. Just the feeling of existing in neutral while your own mind quietly convinces you to stop trying so hard.