It is difficult to function within this function, walls seem to close in as conversation moves closer. I clam up, unsure if there’s really a pearl inside. Loud noises prompt me to come out, but I recede further within, putting on mask after mask as if I am trying to avoid some Red Death of being social. And those voices get louder and louder until they’re nothing more than a thunderous din, “come out and play!” Instead of taking my masks off, I dive into an ocean, hoping to escape. Only to find that I cannot swim, and I reach up for familiar hands, but only those who grab me are strangers to me, intrigued. This is how I die.
My eyes feel as though I have cried, and yet tonight I have not shed a tear. It is as if my depression has made itself more efficient, completely skipping tears altogether, providing me with nothing but a numb spiral that leaves me in a heap on the couch, a husk of who I was yesterday. It leaves me looking for God. It seems a useless search, like fumbling in a dark room that is empty, despite being told that somewhere within there is a candle. There seems to be no candle.