The most infuriating part of depression, for me, is the destruction of my memory.
I want to use some really strong, foul words to describe it. But I’m going to keep those words inside my mind.
Just imagine living inside a tiny room, void of color and sounds. Walking around–or rather turning around–in that tiny room, in a mechanical manner. Nothing matters, no sounds are heard, no desire to speak.
Then one day, it lifts a bit, and the recognition of what has been missed while away, is showing itself—little by little.
Ha! You took a vacation and didn’t even know it. Well, you know you were away because you experienced it, and let me tell you, it’s hot in that vacation spot.
But you know what? This time, I’m not going to beat myself up for having to experience this type of altered state. It’s who I am. The more I berate myself, the more it brings me back down. Before long, I’ll be taking a vacation.
The next vacation I take will be real–with photos and memories.