I’ve been good today. I should feel grand, but I don’t. There’s no eloquent or clever way to say it. I feel awful. I feel depression creeping over me. I feel it so acutely that, for the first time, I know depression is a real, tangible presence. It’s more than a feeling, it’s a presence! Oh great, now I’m in serious trouble. Because one thing’s for sure: this is definitely not a kind, good, or holy presence. As I write this, I feel the gloom settling dramatically around me, like a thick fog. I’m a little scared.
I am proud of myself for not succumbing to this hideous feeling. I am not eating or screaming or sulking or crying. I marched into my room and opened my workbook. I am fighting back. Depression may yet hit me stronger than it has this night, but I will never again allow it to turn me into a moping, sulking fool.