My alarm goes off at nine, and I immediately re-set it for 10.

I woke up twice to the sound of my flatmate getting ready, and after a brief panic about the responsibility of getting up, I decided to let myself relax. I gave myself permission not to get up until later.

The overwhelming relief was a bit startling. I was hoping that the counseling, doctors appointments, and anti-depressants would have made more of an impact already. Unfortunately, this, like everything else, is apparently going to take some time to sort out.

I did manage to pull myself out of bed eventually, to take my meds. I’m struggling with getting a consistent time, mostly because I take them immediately after waking up, and there really is no consistent time for that.

After some general laying about, anxiety spikes, and, yes, crying, I left the house feeling like failure, wrapped in a second-hand worn overcoat, and sweating in the sun.

The sun felt too bright today. My throat is tight and painful,and the tears, are a hair-trigger away. Overwhelmed, and overwhelming.

Also?: The crying. I’m not very good at it, but apparently practice makes perfect. Before this depressive period I didn’t cry for years at a time. Now it’s a success if I make it a week. It makes me feel weak.

The pills must be working, though. Before I was diagnosed, I spent three solid months of numb, sad, dark, empty. Aching empty. Heavy numb. Now I see moments of beauty again. I missed those.

I dream again. In colour again. I missed that. I used to have the most vibrant dreams.

Only, when I’m down and in the dark again? It’s impossible to see the light. I forget about the moments of beauty, and everything, my memories and my reality seems dulled, and washed out.

Worse yet? I don’t care.

So the pills are helping. It’s just going to take time. Writing more of this down – even though I’m very, very out of practice, helps me remember the lighter moments.

I keep a journal with me at all times. Sometimes the bright moments are fleeting, and I have to drop everything to grab at my journal, and get it recorded, just so it’s there in colour.

It’s ironic that the pills they give me to bring back the colour, are themselves, the most colourful, bright pills I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re bright cyan-turquoise, and clashing purple.

I guess the chemists have more of a sense of humor than I ever gave them credit for.


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