Note: This piece was written on 30 December, 2014. But I feel like maybe it’s time to let it out into the wild. I don’t handle stuff quite the same anymore (less sitting under my desk, more sitting on the kitchen floor, but samesame).
I think the first piece I ever read that really explained how depression affects me was this one by Hyperbole and a Half. I’m writing this post because I just started another one about anxiety and ended up sitting under my desk and crying for an hour. I can’t explain why, but small, enclosed spaces make me feel safe when I’m overwhelmed by sadness. Well, that and sitting on the floor. Maybe it’s because it makes me feel more melodramatic and helpless. Maybe because it’s easier to hide. Maybe because it’s easier to curl into myself. Maybe it’s because I can be really grounded.
Anyway. This is (some of) the story of my depression and maybe someone out there will read it and relate and feel less alone and instead of crying on the floor will leave a comment or message me (Twitter handle and gmail addie are in my about page – message me. I’ll listen.).