There are days when my ‘sadness’ boils over. Thoughts of giving up on life comes easy, as well as guilt and self-critcism.
It is in these moments, I feel a strange sense of comfort. Actually, familiarity is a better word. It sort of scares me that a part of myself likes feeling depressed because it is used to it.
It is also scary to think that these thoughts can take my life. If I act upon it or let go over what control I have over my depression, I could cease to exist.
Just like so, these thoughts build up. Inticing fear, a sense of hopelessness, loss of control and sadness. Whilst in my mind it’s like a quiet room suddenly filled with a thousand voices speaking at once… They are not saying the nicest of things.
Though at these times, visual imagery mostly works. I imagine it running through my vains like a dark energy. Then visualise it seeping out through my finger tips into something I touch. Amusingly, I hope I am not invertedly cursing an object. All that negatively. Arg!
Hmm… now that I think about it, I realise it’s form of meditation.
Considering how my family is and my lack of privacy. I am not the least bit surprised.