It's odd to me, but perhaps not really surprising, that since I wrote here the other night, I've felt a bit better.
It's actually kind of sad, because for the last few weeks I'd been trying not to even think the word depression, as if the word itself was toxic. As if that would protect me. And apparently I couldn't have been more wrong.
I'm not magically better. I still want more energy, less intrusive nasty thoughts, and better dreams. [That last one in particular, though it seems the least consequential of the three. Suicide dreams break my heart, and have an annoying tendency to create incredibly salient images that stick with me for a very long time. If only I was an artist... some of them are beautiful, in a very dark way.] But I'm muddling through just a little bit better than I was a few days ago.
Funny how that works.