When You Don't Feel Like Going On

I'm doing well. I'm doing really well, actually. I feel more alive than I have in my entire life.     I'm working and planning and creating and looking forward to the rest of my life. I graduate in 2018, and I'm excited to see where life takes me.     So yes, all in all, I'm doing really well.     But that doesn't mean there aren't still times I feel like a captive held to the confines of my bed. Days I feel as if my depression has sunk its teeth into my neck again, sucking the life from my very bones. Some days, the voices of my anxiety are so loud I have to actually stop what I'm doing, sit on the floor, and try to catch my breath again, repeating to myself over and over again that I'll be okay.     Mental illness is often a lifelong battle, and it might be a battle that I fight for the rest of my life.     There are still days it feels like the mental illness has won the battle. Days I just want to give up and wave my white flag.     The things that usually bring me joy only leave a lingering feeling of bitterness and dissatisfaction within me. The hope and trust I feel so firmly in my sane state of minds slips through my small weak hands. The joy I usually feel so deeply in my bones feels as if it has been ripped away from me.     And I don't want to go on. In that state of mind, the depression and anxiety cloud and fog my vision, making my future appear dark and hopeless. The thoughts and lies come flooding back in like a tidal wave, and all I want to do is let them drown me.     But I keep going on. Even when I don't feel like it. And I think that's the only thing you can do when it feels like the mental illness has its claws in you again. Because even though the mental illness wants you to think your life has no purpose, no meaning, that isn't true.     So I keep marching. I take one step at a time. Even when it hurts. Even when it seems hopeless and useless. Even when I'm worn down and tired, internally exhausted from the battle I'm fighting internally. When I can't see the light, I continue treading along in the darkness; I tell myself over and over to just wait for the sunrise because I know it will come.    I keep showing up for my life because I know giving up isn't an option anymore.      Some days, showing up is all I can do. And, on those days, that's enough. 

I'm doing well. I'm doing really well, actually. I feel more alive than I have in my entire life.

I'm working and planning and creating and looking forward to the rest of my life. I graduate in 2018, and I'm excited to see where life takes me. 

So yes, all in all, I'm doing really well. 

But that doesn't mean there aren't still times I feel like a captive held to the confines of my bed. Days I feel as if my depression has sunk its teeth into my neck again, sucking the life from my very bones. Some days, the voices of my anxiety are so loud I have to actually stop what I'm doing, sit on the floor, and try to catch my breath again, repeating to myself over and over again that I'll be okay. 

Mental illness is often a lifelong battle, and it might be a battle that I fight for the rest of my life. 

There are still days it feels like the mental illness has won the battle. Days I just want to give up and wave my white flag.

The things that usually bring me joy only leave a lingering feeling of bitterness and dissatisfaction within me. The hope and trust I feel so firmly in my sane state of minds slips through my small weak hands. The joy I usually feel so deeply in my bones feels as if it has been ripped away from me. 

And I don't want to go on. In that state of mind, the depression and anxiety cloud and fog my vision, making my future appear dark and hopeless. The thoughts and lies come flooding back in like a tidal wave, and all I want to do is let them drown me. 

But I keep going on. Even when I don't feel like it. And I think that's the only thing you can do when it feels like the mental illness has its claws in you again. Because even though the mental illness wants you to think your life has no purpose, no meaning, that isn't true. 

So I keep marching. I take one step at a time. Even when it hurts. Even when it seems hopeless and useless. Even when I'm worn down and tired, internally exhausted from the battle I'm fighting internally. When I can't see the light, I continue treading along in the darkness; I tell myself over and over to just wait for the sunrise because I know it will come.

I keep showing up for my life because I know giving up isn't an option anymore. 

Some days, showing up is all I can do. And, on those days, that's enough. 

Jacque Anderson2 Comments