My depression today: The bottom

We've all heard that depression isn't about "just feeling sad" or "just tired". Then what is it really about? I've decided the best way for me to raise awareness has to be opening up on how these episodes affect me and my everyday life in these posts called: My depression today.

I'll try to write up what happened in my most recent depressive episode...
This was quick, steep. Just putting my feet in the water but it was hard.

One

I woke up, slow, with a tiny little whisper telling me to lay low today. To chill. To let go.
"Hey, maybe hit snooze, just today, common.
And actually, might want to skip the gym altogether.
It's fine, you're not THAT fat."
I see those comments and say to myself: hey, maybe, I'm just having one of those days.
"Ugh, I have a huge to-do list and I haven't done anything."
And there it is, slowly, like the sand falling in an hourglass, where every second makes a huge sound that has ripples in my head...

Two, three...
My feet feel a little heavier as time goes by...
"Maybe I won't be so strict with the diet, maybe I won't write in my journal today, maybe I'll do yoga tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow. I deserve it."

Next day...
Blank mind.
Four, five, six.
"Why didn't I do anything yesterday? No diet, no yoga, no writing. What did you mean "I deserve it"? I don't deserve shit."
I feel heavy today.
"I look fat. I haven't accomplished anything." Yes, I have.
"Ugh, why am I such a fraud? Why do I have to be such a fucking rip-off? What am I even doing with my life? I haven't exercised lately, I have a flat ass, I have no willpower, no strength, no voice. I'm weak."
Maybe I should call someone. "Bitch, I have no friends."
....
I feel heavier...

Seven, eight, nine.
I can do the bare minimum.
I'll just shower.
I'll just shut off.
... Ten, eleven, twelve...
I'll just binge-watch something
... Thirteen, fourteen, sixteen...
I feel so heavy I can't move.

Next day
I feel so heavy I can just lift my head.
I slept 12 hours. What?
Neck, shoulders, arms, abs, legs. Every muscle feels sore. Why?
I'm exhausted.
I stare at the ceiling thinking if I should go back to sleep or maybe just...
Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.
I've been awake for three hours watching the ceiling.
"I feel ashamed, guilty, fraud.
I'm so out of my depth, I'm so lost.
I'm getting nowhere.
I'm just playing with everyone,
I'm just breaking people because I'm broken.
I will always be broken."

Twenty-one.
Ok, I've been through this before and I can do this.

Twenty-two.
"Suicide."

Twenty-three.
"I'm trapped.
I'm alone, I'm cold, it's dark and I'm blind.
I'm defenseless."

Twenty-four.
Hey, mom. Yeah, one of those days, I'm ok. I just need a little time. Thank you.
She leaves.
"Hide it. Don't let her know. She'll get worried, it's not worth it."

Twenty-five.
"I'm frozen, I'm afraid."

Twenty-six.
Truly, this is madness.

Twenty-seven.
It feels more like a countdown.

Twenty-eight.
End of the Netflix series.
Maybe if I fall asleep when I wake up I won't feel this bad.

Twenty-nine.
"This is my own fault. I didn't follow the diet. I didn't do what was on my to-do list. I didn't drink enough water. I didn't do what I was supposed to."

Thirty.
There are people in my house.
I can't anymore. I curl up trying to hold myself together.
Tears pour down like ice cold waterfalls and I can barely breathe.
I gasp, clean my tears.
Curl up, cry, and try to really feel that pain in the hopes of making it go away.
Tears are just draining now.

Thirty-one.
Please, God.
Just, please, make this stop.
Please, please.
"I can make it stop."

Thirty-two.
Pouring my heart out while I crawled to shower as a gigantic effort to make me feel better with the warmth of the water.
I curl up under the stream trying to keep it in, all the heat, don't leave me.

Thirty-three.

Thirty-four.
"I feel alone, I feel lost and like nobody can understand the weight that is crushing my chest. I don't think I can understand. I feel literal physical pain. Cold. Void. Empty. 
I'm overwhelmed and weak. I can't see the end of this."

Thirty-five...
I cry a little more.
"There is no hope. No matter what I do, I will always end up here."

Thirty-six.

Thirty-seven.
God, please, hear me.


Thirty-eight.
"I am so fucking scared of this. Really what is the point? I keep praying, hoping, begging. Just asking for some more time. One more breath, one more hour, one more day. Just give me strength one more time, but I just end up here." 
Tomorrow I might feel better, I just have to hold on a little bit. 
Hope. Hope.

Thirty-nine.
"I am condemned. Forever. I can't leave this body or this brain. Not alive. And this is bound to happen again."

Forty.

When this goes away, when this episode fades, I will be strong again.
All this noise will cease.
They will stop and I'll even forget about it.
I'll forget how much it hurt.
I'll be ok.

Quiet.
Finally.

Wrapped in a tight ball, under the hot water I start to move, little by little.
I stand up.

This is better.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror:
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the things I've said. I'm sorry for hurting you. I love you. You are strong, beautiful. You are amazing. You can do this. Put some comfy PJs and rest because you're a fucking super-hero. I love you. "