When it’s like this, it’s almost like being reborn. I can’t help but think of the Phoenix, born out of the ashes. The depression is like this. I don’t know what started it, something in my paranoid mind, no doubt. A spark of something ignited a fire in me. It’s always the same- I’ve seen or heard something that didn’t sit well somewhere inside of me and it gnawed at me and gnawed at me. It’s snowballing. The anxiety blossomed into depression which is slowly dissolving into anger, red hot, boiling rage. I hate it when it’s like this. I hate feeling so out of control. I hate hating the things I usually love. I hate everything. I mostly hate feeling like this. He tells me I need to get some rest, that he’ll handle all of the errands on his own today, but he doesn’t understand that when it’s like this, there is no rest. My mind will keep spinning, my insides will grow more and more blackened by the second until I finally explode. He told me once that he would rather hear the craziness that bumps around in my brain because it’s better than wondering what I’m thinking but once I’ve told him what’s happening he gets frustrated and it makes me feel worse. This is why I’m a woman of few words. People say they want to know, but they really don’t. Not when it’s like this.