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...