On Being Depressed
Depression is a junk yard dog that always follow me, bobbing and weaving in and out of shadows, and he's always there, a few steps behind, waiting for me to stop moving so he can pounce. I know he's there-- he's always been there-- but his pounce surprises me, still, every single time. In all honesty, I'm just not in a good place, mentally. I'm irritable. Short tempered. Restless. But mostly... I'm depressed. I'm already on the max dosage of the antidepressant I take, and I can't afford to go to the doctor anyway, to see about changing something up or adding something else. I hate this feeling. I feel so powerless about everything, and my body is just craving sleep. I still haven't watered my plants. Some of them are really struggling right now. My neglect is staring back at me. I will say this: last night was good. It was good to get out of the house. Good to go on a date. Good to be in a queer space with my fiancée. Good to be affectionate witho...