The bags under my eyes.

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 The bags under my eyes.

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…