Somehow I get transported back through time. Back to when my heart was first destroyed. Back to a summer that was so warm that I took cold showers every day.
A different city. A different life. The same depression that never wants to let me go.
I'm more used to it now. It's as painful still but I have lived with the pain for years and I know that what it tells me is just lies. I know that my depression tries to trick me, tries to make me believe that I'm alone. Alone and forsaken.
It's all lies. I'm loved. I'm never alone.
But I still cry. I still get tired and need to go lie down after the challenge of just being awake for a few hours. I want to gey better. That's a good sign at least. I want to get better more than I want to die.
I must always have wanted that. Otherwise I would be dead now.
I want to be able to have a job. Maybe just part time. I want that so much. Until then I'll keep getting up every day even though it feels difficult. Even though I might have to go back to bed after just a few hours. It's okay.