Perfect.

My life is perfect.

Did you know that? It’s perfect.

I have a good, well paying job. I have a house. A yard. A car. I have lots of clothing and shoes and makeup and books and a phone and a computer and TVs and pretty items. I’m engaged, and planning a wedding. I just went on vacation. I do not have debt. I am attractive. I am not hungry, or cold, or wet, or injured, or ill. I have two of the sweetest pets I could imagine. I have a loving family. I have loving friends. I have money in the bank. I have food in my cupboard. I am intelligent. I have no papers due. I have no upcoming tests. I have free time ahead of me.

I have everything I ever wanted.

bubble

And yet, my anxiety and depression hover around my beautiful bubble constantly. Threatening to prick it and shatter everything I hold dear.

I don’t know how it would happen. When it could happen. Why it would happen. If it could happen.

But I still stay in my bed any time I can, huddled deep in my blankets.

My eyes gaze, dead, at nothing. Contemplating how I feel. Not focussed on the abundance in my life. Not of the love that surrounds me. But of the deadness inside of me.

How no matter what I experience, there is that shroud of darkness.

I’m trying to just plunge forward. My feet feel like they’re stuck in deep mud. But I’m still trying.

Sometimes I give up – But I don’t let myself give up for long these days.

I’ve been sick with a flu for a while, and it’s given me too much time to reflect on the darkness. The ugly, dark, heavy coat of anxiety and depression.

I’m trying to remind myself it isn’t real. It isn’t tangible.

But it’s present right now.

And as perfect as my life is, it’s heavy. It’s muddy.

No matter how nice I look, or how together things seem on the outside, there is still a struggle.

I’m not giving into it. Not fully.

But tonight, I am acknowledging it.

If only to tell it “you are next to me, and so, you are not me.”

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