The bags under my eyes officially qualify as suitcases, in case you haven’t had enough overused clichés today. Unfortunately, while trite, the phrase is accurate. The bags are suitcase-y indeed. I suspect it’s because of all the sleep I’m not getting. I’d take the magic pills, but they’re a transitory fix. The problem is pain,... Continue Reading →
time lags with depression
The thing I hate about my depression is the way time slows down to a crawl. My sleep is an interrupted mess, but I still dread the last awakening, knowing it means I’ll have to get up. That I’ll have to face all those hours that exist between now and when I crawl into bed again. The days get very long. They’d likely feel shorter if I was doing; unfortunately, doing becomes extremely challenging when depression is acting up. The only actions I lean into with alacrity are harmful. Your brain tries to get you to abandon the good things by the wayside...