From the diaries of depression

Some days just hurt more than the others. Days where I can’t seem to figure out why am I feeling down or why am I being scared. I can’t decipher my emotions. It just hurts, everything just aches, more so, even to breathe. The more I wanted everything to make sense, the more I became confused. I just can’t understand why all of a sudden I couldn’t recognized myself anymore. Like the person that I once was, is nowhere to be found, like a mere product of my imagination. Asking myself again, ‘where did I go wrong?’ ‘Did I do it to myself?’ ‘How am I supposed to forgive myself for all the things that I did not become?’

There are some days too, where it felt like I can conquer the world. Telling myself that we aren’t made for happiness alone. That healing wasn’t really beautiful. That maybe, it is supposed to be messy, that it is the endless back-to-zeroes and that choosing to move forward even though you don’t feel like it. Healing isn’t a placid transition, maybe it’s being worn-out from fighting your demons every single day and accepting defeat every night. but trying again the next morning hoping. Maybe healing, isn’t really an overnight thing. Maybe, just maybe healing is all the ugliest and the worst part, that waking up from an eight hour sleep tired. That kind of exhaustion that even sleep can’t fix.

Maybe, I am trying so hard to go back from who I used to be. Without the realization that I can’t be that person anymore - whoever that maybe, she was long gone. That maybe I am just sabotaging my own growth to become who I am destined to be by dwelling over the past. The thing is, I miss my old self. And how I wish I never taken her for granted.