Surrounded By My Own Insanity

The physical and mental pain of depression

I sit on my unmade bed, another night already slipping into the darkness of a new day. It seems no matter how hard I try my bedroom is always in shambles - baskets of clean clothes shoved against the wall, books and projects abandoned where I left them, dirty dishes adorning every surface. I hate living this way, but I can't summon the will to remedy it. Maybe I secretly like living this way. My room mirrors the chaos of my mind, a physical representation of my mental struggle. If the mouth speaks from the fullness of the heart, the hands act from the churning of the mind.

Sometimes I wish I could peek at the end of my life and discover what happens to me, like the epilogue of a movie. Not knowing where I'll end up is both a great gift and the most exquisite pain. I often feel as though I'll always be here, in this little blue room, surrounded by my own insanity. But I've always thought so and was dragged endlessly forward in spite of my belief. It's therefore likely I shall continue on. What is less certain is whether I find respite from myself.