Depression, people say, is crushing and sometimes I wonder, if mine were crushing, would it squeeze me to do something about it?  

Depression is the smothering blanket of a grey, humid day when the air is too thick to breathe and the heat pushes me down and holds on like the gravity has been turned up. Too limp to move. 

Depression is a soft grey tissue forgotten in a pocket. It looks whole, but try to use it and it will dissolve in a pile of fluff. Nothing holds together. 

Depression is envying people with ‘real’ problems, because surely these are only in my head and if it’s only in your head, then it isn’t real. Real problems seem so far away from my limp, faded life. 

Depression is the belief, the knowledge that while, perhaps, the world wouldn’t be better off without me, it isn’t any better off with me. There is not one thing special or irreplaceable about my life. 

Depression isn’t every day. Some days the sun is bright and the air is clear, and I feel healthy and whole. The to-do list is defeated in strong, easy strokes. I’ve got this. 

Depression is so unfathomable on a good day. Life is good, happy even. Problems do not overwhelm. Connections to friends and family are strong. There are things to give and contributions to make. I matter. 

Depression stalks. Waiting, like a poisonous snake seeking prey. Always a shock when it comes. How can I resist something that seems so improbable? Surely it wasn’t that bad? That’s just not possible. Today feels blessedly normal. 

But tomorrow, a little voice says.  What will tomorrow be? Can I make a plan? Will I let people down? Go forth and conquer, or stay home and hide from the monsters that lurk inside my head? Strong and positive, or a drippy mess? 

Depression heeds no logic. All the wonders that are life are washed out to sea in a flood of loss, despair, and hopelessness. Yesterday’s joy will slip through my fingers on a stream of tears with no reason behind them. Happy thoughts find no purchase in my storm tossed heart. 

Sometimes depression isn’t crushing, it’s just tired. And cruel.