The sense of isolation that depression produces is so familiar. It doesn’t matter how much time I spend with people or talk to them. I feel like I’m barricaded from everyone with a wall of frosted glass, and I can’t see or hear them clearly. (Obviously, they can’t see or hear me clearly, either.) After a while, you forget the glass is there, because you’ve gotten so used to the way the world and the people in it look from behind the wall.
Empathy becomes very difficult, not like it is for me on better days. Not because I don’t care, but because I just can’t understand. Why doesn’t everyone else want to lie in bed all day? Isn’t anyone else just too tired for all this shit? Why do things? Why have relationships, why invest in anything?
From behind the glass wall, other people and the things they do make no sense at all. I’m sure I don’t make any sense to them, either.
But at least I’m not sad or anxious most of the time (though when it hits, it really hits). I’m actually strangely calm. Things happen to me and I sort of absorb them, because I don’t feel like I have much if any control over them.
It’s been two weeks, which is the minimum for a depression diagnosis. Of course, I’m never entirely symptom-free anyway, but it’s still very obvious when the symptoms increase to a level of clinical significance. So I have it, again. I’m almost resigned to it. It was always going to come back; it was only a matter of time.