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 Depression is so easily overlooked. You might think me a fool for stating something so seemingly ludicrous, but this is my truth. I do see that society has made some enormous leaps forward in terms of highlighting how serious depression is and not to take it lightly, but it remains invisible.

I am not a strong person. Regardless of what I have been told countless times, I do not feel strength within my bones when I say that I have lived another day through my depression. Strength, to me, would be to end it all entirely, with a finality that only death can provide. However, I am too weak and too fearful to put myself through that.

People tell me I have the wrong mindset. They tell me to go outside more, as if the sun can provide healing rays as it burns into my skin. They tell me to eat right, sleep well, and stay clean. The basic human needs. They don't realise that my knees buckle under the weight of my own darkness, that merely walking from the bedroom to the kitchen is a marathon. They don't consider the possibility that my brain has been wiped clear of all coherent thought and replaced with screaming pain. They don't understand that I see no point in feeding myself, when that would also mean feeding the monster.

I have been sedated with medication, which has recently been increased in dosage. Everything is the same, only now it is slower. There's only so much a doctor can do.

I am due to have my last session of talking therapy later today. She will tell me to try meditating again. There's only so much a mental health practitioner can do.

My partner is rightfully frustrated, and also fighting her own demons. I do not ask for anything from her, as there's only so much a struggling human being can do.

So, I am left to my own devices. I'm told that I have all the tools at my disposal to continue fighting this battle. It's up to me, and only me. If I sat in the silence for long enough, everyone around me might soon forget that I have depression at all. And then something will come up, a trigger, to remind everyone that this is not a quick-fix diagnosis, and suddenly I'm surrounded by sighs of exhaustion again. Because it's up to me, and only me, and I do not have the strength nor the insight to win this fight.

Do I want to die? Absolutely not. I have seen the beauty of this world, even if it is dwindling out of sight now. I know what joy feels like, despite my fear that I might have forgotten. I have seen potential when I look in the mirror, although it is pouring away and evaporating like water in a broken bucket. My biggest concern right now is that my life is more detrimental to this world than it is useful. I want nothing more than to change that. That is what I have always wanted.

I usually write with a purpose, but this blog has no purpose. I am here merely to record my latest thoughts, in the hope that a future version of myself can look back on these words and feel the sweet relief of having clawed their way out of this pit. In the meantime, here I am, wondering where to begin.

A job. I need to get a fucking job. That is the first step. Employment has been tricky for me these past few years, with my physical health taking a dramatic downward turn and the trauma of the aftermath lasting longer than I expected it to. But I'm done with that now. I need to get back on the horse.