Experience of depressive episodes teaches you to expect the unexpected. It doesn’t matter how many times the cycle repeats itself, you have no way of knowing how far and how hard you will fall until you reach the bottom. Yesterday was bad, today was worse, tomorrow is still unknown. Given that I am nowhere near the worst I have ever been (I simply wouldn’t be capable of writing this if I were anywhere close to those depths), the knowledge of how much further I could potentially fall, however unlikely the chances of that are, always adds an extra element of apprehension to a situation that is already scary enough.
I am consumed be a deep, weary lassitude. My ability to concentrate on anything at more than a superficial surface level is severely compromised. Sleep, such that I manage to have, does not refresh but actually seems to further sap my reserves of strength and energy. Regular breathing does not appear to fill my lungs; enforced deep breathing just reinforces my inability to full process and cope with my situation.
Darkness: cold, hard and suffocating, presses in around me, cutting me off further from the outside world.
And still, I continue to fall…