Depression in a Coffee Shop

September 9, 2016 9:03PM

This is a story about depression.

She sat alone in a coffee shop, in a city she had never been to, and she felt serene. And she knew it. Her journal sat next to her, open, unwritten. A smile played at her lips. Moments like this had been hard to come-by for many months — they had been plentiful before the darkness settled, and it sparked a light that maybe — just maybe — they were on their way back to her.

Depression is a strange thing. Mostly in that, it’s not a thing at all. It’s being trapped in a dark room with extractor fans pulling out all the air, and the walls closing in — and then opening your eyes and knowing you’re actually standing at the top of a mountain in the fresh Colorado air with the people who love you most in this world.

She thought that it began with death, but that had just been a part of the beginning — and a continuity of it. People speak about death as though it’s final, it made her wonder if those people had ever actually experienced it. Death is forever; as a matter of fact, it is the MOST unending of things. M****’s dead. She’ll be dead tomorrow, and she’ll continue to be dead forever.

A tear slipped down her cheek and splashed silently on the table in front of her.

She smiled and gave a resigned chuckle as she traced a heart with the salty water.

Moments like that were hard to come-by, and harder to hang on to.

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