My Aunty has died.

For a moment all I could hear was white noise. And my world, which has been feeling more and more like an empty space, closing in on me these past months, has become even smaller. 

I can\’t breathe. 

I\’ve lived with depression all my life.  But I\’m used to being high functioning. That means I get things done even though I feel horrible, like a bottomless pit of nothingness. I write, I go out, I smile, I engage with people… and the bad thing about that is people tend to not understand. Because many think of depression as one walking around trailed by a rainy cloud. And I look fine on the outside.

But for the past several months I\’ve not been able to do much. I\’ve not written anything meaningful that I wanted to in over a year. Nothing feels meaningful. 

My life feels meaningless. Night terrors are wrecking havoc on me, and it is often scary to close my eyes. I get to work, but just about.

It took someone else telling me that these are the typical signs of depression. I was surprised I hadn\’t noticed. I\’ve lived with it all my life. I blog about it. How could the black dog be staring me in the eyes and I not notice?

It\’s because I\’ve gone from high functioning to barely functioning. 

I\’m always surprised when depression hits. It strikes me in waves. Heavy, hard and vicious waves, but I ride them until they subside. Every time, I never seem to remember how I got past the last episode.

It is absurd. It feels absurd. And I know I\’m being unkind to myself. But I don\’t feel able to muster any kindness to myself right now. 

Right now, my MO is just to get by. Basic human instincts. Survive. 

Survive.

I hate that word.

Because I want to live. With depression, I just keep forgetting how.

How do you manage? 

Gentle hugs x

RIP my beautiful, kind hearted aunty. Until we meet again.