Neither Pride Nor Joy.

  
Sunday was survived. And anyone I choose to discuss this with would no doubt congratulate me, with understanding that to do so is not a failure in any way.

But I hold no pride, nor joy. Even though my focus for the day was solely on caring for myself, the pain of the struggle has taken it’s toll.

I feel wrecked from the push and pull of feelings. Exhausted, from the effort required to maintain a functional human form today. Lost, from the lack of any spiritual connection. And forgotten, from the missing physical contact that comes with closing myself away.

I don’t wish to isolate myself. Keeping in touch with others just consumes more energy than I feel capable of handling. While the influence of depression leads to numerous scenarios, real and imagined, that drag my emotions in disparate directions.

And it’s all shrouded in fear. Wondering if I won’t be able to function tomorrow, because I don’t just bounce back. Concern over the lasting impact the physical and emotional tolls take.

I’m tired of dealing with the crashed feelings. I don’t want to stay down there. The further struggle to pull myself back up is also draining. It creates more feelings of loneliness and exhaustion.

Mostly, I choose not to burden others with this. Because when they don’t understand and don’t know what to say, or how to respond to me, it breaks my heart that little bit more each time.

So many days, I sit here between hopelessness and helplessness. Afraid to move, afraid to aggravate one or the other. Feeling stuck; silent but conspicuous.

Survival is not my choice. It simply must be, no matter how I feel. And so, I mostly feel, little pride, little joy.