A lot of times when I try to describe my depression (I emphasize mine because another’s case doesn’t necessarily manifest the same) I struggle. “How can I explain something I don’t even fully understand?” I question myself. Well I try the best I can…all the while thankful for my active imagination.
I call it (dun-dun-dunnn!): The Shadow.
Those days where everything on the outside is fine and my life looks fine and the customer service people are even being nice, I feel it. It’s connected to me and I can’t step or run away. I can laugh and enjoy myself, but in the pause of a breath, it’s in my field of vision again..reminding me.
The only time I don’t feel it is when I can’t feel anything…The Shadow has finally caught up and enveloped me. It’s wet and heavy and I’m a sinking boat beneath it. These are the days that I exist as a part of the couch. I become a fixture, an almost inanimate object in my own life.
The dark and oily Shadow is more familiar to me than the sound of my own name, yet I resent its presence and the effect it has on me.