I’m having a bad day. It’s probably the worst day I’ve had in a long time. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. My bones ache. My heart aches. My soul aches. It’s the type of day that has me wanting to disappear completely. Slinking off to live a life of solitude on a scenic mountainside. Or drowning myself in a bottle of whiskey until I cry myself into a sleep so deep I permanently wake in the alternate universe I visit in my dreams. A world where I am safe. And warm. And loved. My Depression has me convinced that this isn’t a bad day, it’s a bad life. I’m not happy, and I never will be. I’m not appreciated, and I never will be. I’m not loved, and I never will be. My soul isn’t being fed. I am pouring into others from a cup that has run dry, and no one will ever care enough to help fill it. My shards are too jagged for society, and I’m not worth the glue to mend the broken pieces. But that voice of Depression is my own, exploiting my intermittent darkness to shape the narrative. I have clawed my way back from Hell too many times to be fooled though. The light inside has always guided me home. The light of faith. And hope. And love. Bad days will come, and sometimes you just have to let yourself have them. But they are mere moments, droplets in a lifetime of overflowing buckets. They don’t define your life. What matters is how you respond to them. You are not what you say to yourself on your darkest days. Fight through the bullshit in your head, and follow your heart, it will always carry you to the most meaningful existence. The ride may be turbulent, but even when you have to fight your way back, the view is worth it. 🖤
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