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  • Writer's picturecocodensmore

It's one of those days.



May 14, 2024


It’s one of those days.


If I was at all tired, if I thought I could sleep, I’d just go lie down. But I would just lie there, in this relentless pain, and it would be no different than sitting here staring at my tree.


It hurts so badly and there is no place in my body that it really hurts, I can’t really explain what hurts. It’s the core of me. Yes, my chest is tight. And right in my very center, probably where my heart is, there is a tight pain, like a squeezing sensation. And it’s not a heart attack. It’s like phantom pain. It’s not really there but it’s all consuming pain.


The tears won’t stop.


I reach out to Paul. He’s recovering for Covid. And it’s not his problem. He doesn’t want to deal with me on top of his own shit. I get it. I don’t think I could take on anyone else’s pain right now, either.


I reach out to Ben. He’s out, but I don’t know for how long. I’d have to shower and dress, which seems such a daunting task. And he’d probably be gone by the time I got there.


I reach out to David. He offered to come by. But I’m in my pajamas. I’d have to shower and dress, which seem such a daunting task. And what would I do if he came over? Sit there and cry. It would solve nothing. It’s nice he offered though. That’s so nice that he offered.


There is no solution to this deep deep all consuming pain of depression except to push through and wait it out. It does pass. I remember just the other day when I wasn’t sad, I was recalling those times when I am sad, and I couldn't remember what that felt like. And then on days like this, when the sadness engulfs me in pain, I don’t remember what it’s like not to feel this pain.


I couldn’t find Tylenol, and I don’t want to search for it. So I took ibuprofen. For some reason, it helps with the pain of depression. Or maybe it doesn’t. But I think it might, so I try it.


Then I look out the window. It’s such a beautiful beautiful day. The sky is blue with wispy clouds. I pray to God, “Take this away please please please take this away.”


And then more tears.


It’s relentless, and it feels like it will never end. There is no fixing it.


If I called the doctor, they’d assume I needed to go to the ER. The ER doesn’t solve anything. I’m not sick enough to be hospitalized. It’s just this generalized feeling of pain and not being able to escape the pain. I’m not suicidal. I’m just sad, so sad so sad so sad so sad. I want it to end. I want it to end more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want this pain to end. Tears.


It really is the most horrible thing, this disease. I don’t know how to fix it. I do everything I can, I really do. I see the doctor for med management, I’ve got an appointment with a psychiatrist. I have an appointment with a counselor. It’s all in the works. I’m investigating doing TMS AGAIN. This would be the fifth round. That's how tenacious I am. I fight I fight I fight and fight. But it costs. And I can’t really afford it right now.


Am I depressed about money? No, not really. I have everything I could ever want and need in this little apartment. I have everything. I have enough. I have food. I have everything I need, truly truly. I can stay here. I don’t have to go anywhere. I don’t have to spend any money I don’t have. It’s not money. I don’t feel trapped. Sure, it would be nice to go out and blow some, but that’s not what I really want or need. Plus, I’d have to shower and dress, which seems such a daunting task.


I could read, I’ve started a good novel, it’s engaging. I am watching a movie, it’s engaging. I could make jewelry again. I haven’t since before last semester started, so not since around Christmas. I can do these things. I will do these things.


But right now, all I can do is feel this pain. And stare at my beautiful tree.


I Persevere.


I Persevere.


I’m so fucking tired.

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