6 days of freedom.

6 days of not feeling like I merely “exist”. I don’t have the same motivation or levels of fatigue every time but that’s okay. That’s all okay. I don’t feel dead on the inside, that’s what counts. I don’t feel like a waste of everyone’s times. I don’t think “life would be so much less TIRESOME if I was living on my own without family”. There’s hope. There’s a feeling of purpose, albeit small. There’s a feeling of mild ambition.. It’s.. weird and interesting. I no longer joke about wanting to be dead, not that I was suicidal but.. I felt dead. On the inside. Barren of emotions. Devoid of positivity, motivation, ambition..

Depression isn’t something I’ll ever joke about again. It’s absolutely a tidal wave that catches you off guard and sweeps you off your feet. I’m anticipating the after effects, the after shock.. But, I try to not think too hard about that. I don’t want to ruin my feeling good with thoughts of “omg, my ass gonna be depressed all over again when this good time passes”. I know it’s different for everyone, and we all think in different ways and it’s so hard to change your mindset and we all have different coping mechanisms.

I’m so used to telling myself it will be ok, I got this, I can manage this, because I’ve always only had myself to count on. I had to help myself get over severe anxiety, drag my own ass through school, force myself to find a job, go back to my mother or starve. And the extreme need to be safe made me repress that fear and get a job.

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