Not again.

I survived major depression. I’ve exhausted all there was to discuss about that. Fast forward to today, I’m in hospital for depression. Again. I knew that’s what I was suffering from but I was skirting over it trying to find other names for it but depression. I always said I had, for lack of a better term, ptsd from surviving depression cos I was scared of going back there again. Yet here I am.

I didn’t want to acknowledge that I was suffering from depression again. It felt like a personal failure. Like I worked so hard to come out of it only to get back again so easily. I know this wasn’t my doing. And it’s not really a personal failure even though it feels like it.

The last time I was here my boyfriend was by my side the WHOLE time. I fought hard to survive so I could be with him. He gave me reason to live. Our love was reason to live for me. I’m not even lying. I’ve always found life to be rather meaningless. Loving him and being loved by him gave me something to live for. And then he died. Oh my heart.

My life feels so empty right now. Meaningless. I’m trying to put together a list of reasons to live and they all seem so meaningless. Not important enough for me to want to be alive. Nothing feels that important to me right now. I guess that’s what depression does. Drains one’s world of all colour leaving it grey and gloomy.

I have healthcare professionals who took an oath that they would do whatever it took to save people in my position so I’m giving them space to make what they think are the best decisions for me right now.

We’ve been here before.