when depression first made a home of me in elementary school, i had a friend who took my hands and held me tightly as she said, “hang in there. better days are coming.”
she was right. i have had days, weeks even, where there’s a spring to my steps, where i am confident and lighthearted and clearheaded. i have had days where i am simply happy, and i think, i am so glad to have lived to see such days.
i think of my friend, and the way her small hands gripped mine, when depression starts gardening in my mind again. everything dies. all my thoughts turn to suffocating black smoke and i can only cry to try to stop the burning in my throat. better days are coming, i remind myself, but i don’t believe it. i can’t see it. living is a marathon, and i am exhausted. there are often days where my dog is the only thing that keeps me going, and in my darker moments, i don’t know if i’m grateful for that or not.
but. better days are coming. i say it over and over and over until i could maybe believe it, because it is the only kindness to be found in this awful mindset. and i will take whatever light i can find, however little there may be.