It sneaks up on me sometimes. Other times I see it from miles away. 

I get mad at myself that I can’t enjoy the sunshine or the people around me. I love them and I love the sun, yet I don’t want any part of it. I can’t find joy in the things I usually find joy in. I despise the pressure I put on myself to do what I love. Happiness doesn’t seem obtainable at this point and I’m stuck on the verge of crying.

It’s worse because I know it affects the people I’m closest to. I can’t seem to hide my lack of interest in them, in myself, in anything really. My mood and countenance seem uncontrollable when I’m crashing. Sometimes I wish I could be one of those people that are miserable on the inside but no one can ever tell, but I don’t like being dishonest.

Fortunately, it’ll balance out. Balance is a relative term, my highs really aren’t any better. I’m constantly agitated and irritated over everything. My brain feels itchy, my body feels on edge, and I find I talk to myself for longer than I should. I still would rather live with that than depression but only because it’s more thrilling. Both are just as exhausting. 

I have learned to let my emotions ride out, not forcing myself to feel any sort of way. It’s less exhausting when I’m not constantly telling myself I’m crazy or something’s wrong with me. Both are probably true, but I don’t need to be telling myself that. 

Then one day I’ll wake up and my mind and body will feel less heavy. My normal routine feels less painful to complete and for the most part, I feel like myself again.