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She’s Back with a Slow Swag, a Huge Smile, and the Intention of Stealing My Soul
Meet Debbie, my Depression. I don’t know how, when, or why, but she’s here again.
Two weeks ago, my therapist asked me a question I hadn’t considered in a long time.
“Are you depressed again? Because that’s one reason to feel numb.”
Oh. Huh. Hmmm. Why didn’t I think of that? Could it be? Could I be? Could…could Debbie be back?
It was a definite possibility, a very plausible explanation for the universal apathy I’ve been feeling lately: I was sad, but I didn’t cry much when my parents left for India at the end of January (I usually cry my lungs out for weeks). I haven’t written since December because writing involves thinking and processing, both of which are too daunting to indulge in. It’s also why I haven’t been reading — books, articles, comments, just ugh.
I avoid long conversations in person, over the phone, or through text — even with best friends and family — because I don’t have the energy for it.
Come to think of it, I don’t have the energy for anything.
And there were always other things to blame: the heady mix of my body’s own and pill-generated hormones, a trial-and-error treatment for…
