What my depression feels like …

I’m a beautiful, sleek driving machine, a supercar made for the road
(not the racetrack). I’m exquisite. I’m a McLaren F1. I’m meant to fly
down the German Autobahn (which, by the way, has speed limits and I
have the tickets to prove it). I’m automotive perfection.

I’m also out of gas.

I’m slowly bumping down the shoulder, my engine in neutral, my tank
empty. I’m running on fumes. Yeah sure, I’ll make my destination
eventually and I do occasionally stop to take in the view and enjoy
the scenery, but mostly I’m pushing and shoving and trying to steer at
the same time.

That is what depression feels like to me. I should be cruising down
the highway, pedal to the metal. Instead I’m crawling down the
shoulder.

I‘m not despairing. I don’t think the world is ending and life sure is
worth living. I really wouldn’t say I’m particularly unhappy, but I
have the attention span of a gnat and it’s difficult to concentrate.
I’m also fidgety and restless. I can’t sit still. Standing in line
somewhere is torture. I lost interest in most things I loved doing.
Heck, before doing anything these days (years, really), my first
thought is, “how much energy will that cost me and how long will it
take me to recover from that drain.”

I’m TIRED. Above all, I’m mentally, physically and emotionally EXHAUSTED.

I used to think depression is something akin to a personal flaw. I
absoultely subscribed to the “you can snap out of it” school of
thought. But the more I read about it and talked to people, the more I
realized that it’s not my doing (or not-doing, as it were). It’s my
body being out of synch and imbalanced.

I’m a sports car with an empty tank, and I’m sick of towing and
pushing. I need a gas station 🙂

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