Today, I'm not getting dressed.
Depression has come and wrapped her cold dark arms around me once again and drawn me close.
Depression has taken my marriage, my family, my kids, my career, and my happiness. Depression has stolen 19 years of my life, what's another day?
Not much longer to go and I can celebrate 25 lonely years since my 25 year marriage ended. Stupid of me to think I could just walk into another relationship, when I'm already fully committed to Depression. It's an abusive relationship.
Instead, I've turned into the weird, hairy, old recluse at the end of the road, with his overgrown garden, with his crumbling house full of treasured trash, dust, hair and mould, with his curtains closed because he can't get to them to open them.
The weird, solitary, grumpy old man, with no close friends or family, who rarely goes outside because he feels safer locked away inside his house and himself. The one who pushes people away because, if he lets them get in close, they will ultimately just open his old deep wounds and let Depression return as she has today.
The desperately unhappy, lonely old man with a shattered heart, who knows what a useless broken wreck he is and just sits out his days, waiting for death to end it all, so he can slide beneath the stormy sea into the peace and stillness of its depths, because there's no hope of rescue any more.