It’s supposed to lift.
The depression is supposed to lift today.
I can’t just make it happen. I can’t wish it good riddance. But I keep thinking I’m in control of it and responsible for it—as if I only have depression when it’s convenient. Like when I don’t want to eat any more and manipulate/excuse my feelings into behaviors. But that is not the case. It hangs around like the fog near the Hudson River. It makes it hard to see beyond myself. It is slow to rise and slower to give way for clear, safe driving.
Clear driving. Safe driving.
I can’t take myself much longer like this.