I struggled through the week. I felt defeated. I felt lost.
It started for what felt like no reason at all, and maybe it did but that didn’t make me feel any less depressed. I was feeling insecure, and down on myself. I didn’t like the way I looked in the mirror. I didn’t like myself. I didn’t like that I didn’t like myself. I felt as if everything was bad and nothing was good.
I felt like everyone in this world was bad, and no one was good. I felt like I needed to be better, but I didn’t feel like I could. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right at all.
I failed at work, and it reminded me that I wasn’t even doing what I wanted to be doing. It reminded me that I was behind in life. It reminded me that I was a failure at so many other things. It reminded me that I still had so many things left to fail at.
I fought with my spouse, and it wasn’t the typical bickering that every couple deals with. It was heart stopping, and exhausting. It was the kind of fight that erupted ever minor problem you had ever held back on discussing before that moment. I felt like I was crumbling, but I tried to pushed myself to believe that it couldn’t possibly get worse, but then it did.
I checked my bank account and bursted in to tears. Panic clawed at my throat, and for a moment I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. Then, my heart sunk in to my stomach as I realized the very real possibility that I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent this month.
For a moment I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but then I did. Because I’m alive, which means I can still get through this, because at least I still have tomorrow, and that’s something that too many others don’t.