Tonight we talked about death as if it were upon us. As if it were ominously, predictably, inevitable.

Today I let go of clothes. And then I began to inventory what else will make life easier for my family if it’s gone. “It’s just material objects that are weighing me down,” I told myself. Gone before I’m gone.

Today depression took everything from me. It took my emotions, my body, my intimacy.

It let me breath enough to fake the fight to everyone that cares and then when I tried to surrender it suffocated me. It stole my breath and my words and my skills and my will.

“I feel the best I’ve felt in 2 weeks,” I hear myself telling my cousin at the end of our 5-mile run, simultaneously wanting to puke at the grandiose lies I felt I wasn’t in control of. Someone else is running my body. Someone else is running this show.

I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine

I am great, I am progress, I am …

Dying inside and no one can see.

Everything will be fine in the morning.

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