Bell jar

I don’t think I can ever get rid of depression. Sure I can push it out of my life for a while, but it comes back and finds me and clings to me and the cycle of trying to stay afloat and gasping for air starts all over again. I don’t live, I only go from one depression episode to the next. What happens in between is just enough recovery time to watch myself almost die all over again. I am trapped, I am alone and not alone at the same time. Depression is always with me and it is never going to leave.

I just read the bell jar and i could not believe how accurately it describes the feeling of being alone and never being able to reach out.
“To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.”
“because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”

“sour air”, Toxic, just not toxic enough to kill me.
It’s hopeless and simply tiring. What a cruel thing to always live so close to the edge of death but never falling hard enough to die just enough to break my bones, my dreams and my heart.

how foolish to keep going on like this. why keep going at all?