My depression is alive and well. It wakes me up at three o’clock in the morning. I look outside of my bedroom window and I wonder how many other lonely souls have been awaken by sadness tonight.
Instead of being happy, be interested.
You sat at the edge of your bed, clutching your phone, waiting for a text from him. It wasn’t just that day. You’ve been waiting for days, even weeks for him to get back to you. For him to give you an explanation.
“Be strong right now.”
The losses were brutal, untimely, and sometimes lasting. The pains came in multitudes, and often. The reasons to cry seemed plentiful whilst the reasons to laugh seemed scarce.
“There is no point treating a depressed person as though she were just feeling sad, saying, ‘There now, hang on, you’ll get over it.’ Sadness is more or less like a head cold- with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.”
Looking back, I know that everything that happened had happened for a reason. The boy I once loved walked away so that I could see clearly once again.
“It was a cry I’ve never experienced before. It was real and raw and terrifying.”
So many Drake tears.
That’s the thing about developing alzheimer’s: one only has room for few, specific memories. They’ll try to hold onto these memories as much as possible, but in doing so, they end up forgetting that anything else ever existed.