Visitor

It always sneaks in from behind, and I don’t recognize it.

All I know is that I’m irritable, my fuse is so short, and nothing I do even matters.

Everything feels pointless and suddenly putting supper on the table is once again an insurmountable task.

The kids' chatter irritates me. The kids' questions make my nerves stand up on end.

I need to get away. To end the misery. To shake off the entirety of my life and cease to exist.

Oh, I’m depressed again, I realize at some point.

And I collapse in a bundle on the floor.

Will my lethargic body to block out everyone and everything and just aim to get to bed.

There is a rhyme and reason to this depression. There are specific Somethings that bring it on.

So my therapist says, and I’ve given up arguing with her.

Because, What’s the point? Depression says, and I sort of agree.

Who cares if it’s brought on by Something. It’s here, and I lethargically hand it over the reins.

I’ll just head to bed.

Or just stare into space in a dissociated trance, effectively blocking out the grayscale here and now.

But a strange thing happens this time around. I realize that actually for the past while, my bed has not been the command center from where my entire life was dispatched. It was, by and large, a nighttime (fine, early evening) destination.

And I realize that several weeks have passed since I’ve last felt this lifeless. This hopeless.

So if my depression is just a visitor this time around, well, that says something about it, no?

I look at it carefully, this angle and that angle.

Hm... I know you. I see you.

I even get you.

You’re back.

But, this time I know you will not stay forever.

And the thought alone takes the intensity off its grip on me.