This Is What Depression Actually Feels Like, Because We’d Give Anything For It To Stop (Published on Thought Catalog)

At 4 AM, I woke up to a great news: my submission was accepted and was now live on an international platform. What a wonderful start to a normal day, I thought.

At 6 AM, it seemed that the universe wanted to spoil me a little more: another article was accepted and was now live on a local magazine’s website. I was so happy that I literally jumped out of bed.

At 8 AM, I went to work. I was all smiles as I braved the heavy early morning traffic. I had two reasons to be happy, after all. I tried to not let those things get in my head as I prepared myself for the long day ahead.

At 12 PM, I just returned to my workstation when my boss sent an announcement on our group thread: she commended me for writing praise-worthy blog posts. Our clients were pleased. Could it get any better than this?

At 5 PM, I clocked out and went home. I thought about the 101 reasons to be happy, about how my dreams as a writer were slowly coming true, and suddenly the monsters were there. Beside me. On my ride home. Taunting me. Sucking all those happy memories out of me. Eating me alive.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You’re going to die, anyway,” echoed the monsters. I thought about how time flies. Of how anything could happen any minute. Of how we’re all doomed.

I thought about the 101 reasons to be happy, and suddenly I was not happy. I thought about all the things that could happen that could break the streak. And the mere thought of it did it. My worst fears were creeping up my soul.

At 6 PM, I was crying. On my way home. In public.

At 7 PM, I lay in bed. Thinking about how my parents could die at any moment. Of how my siblings were growing too fast. Of how my boyfriend and I could suddenly realize we’re not meant to be. Of how the much-feared seven-magnitude earthquake could ruin all of us. All of my dreams. Of how the universe could collapse any minute. Of how I would face my death. I thought about how Jeremiah Saint-Amour killed himself at 60 because he didn’t want to grow old. I don’t want to grow old.

At 7:30 PM, I was thinking. Always thinking. I couldn’t stop thinking. I wanted to stop thinking.

At 8 PM, I received a notification that three of my posts were featured on this women’s platform. I locked my phone. I cried. I had 101 reasons to be happy and yet I was not. I cried some more. Fuck you, I thought. I opened my laptop. Please stop. I took a deep breath. I stopped crying. I wrote this.

This was previously published on Thought Catalog

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