There’s a little rocking chair in the next room and that is where my depression is sitting, legs crossed comfortably. It waves at me occasionally throughout the day and gives me a callous wink.

rockingchair

It likes to hang out and chill in there. Ever watchful of me and my activities.  It doesn’t like the pills that keep it at bay. It’s hungry and will never leave that room. For as long as I live, it will be there. Waiting for a weak moment to attack me.

I’m not trying to be dramatic. (Okay, maybe a little.) But I am being honest. It never goes away, it just slides over, shifts itself to a distant locale. Depression isn’t like a cold that will eventually wear out its welcome. It stays for the duration, coming and going like an annoying gnat.

Well, you can at least smack a gnat and kill it.

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