When I had my first flare-up of ulcerative colitis, and delved into what it was all about, I discovered that there was no cure. It’s a chronic illness that you will have for the rest of your life.

When I first became depressed, and in the years that followed, I didn’t realise. I didn’t realise that depression is chronic. A chronic illness that you will have for the rest of your life.

It doesn’t matter how many friends you have, even really good ones. It doesn’t matter if you have a partner, children, family, acceptance, love.

If you are depressed, there’s nothing you can do but ride the waves, and hope you don’t drown before you come up for air.

The two are so similar, colitis and depression. You can feel well, then a flare-up will stop you in your tracks. You can feel like you’re in a good place, then suddenly, you’re not. And you begin to wonder if you ever were.

All you can feel is each moment and how you feel in that moment.

Nothing feels real, but everything feels too real.

You do stupid things.

Holding down a job with depression is hard.

There are so many good things in my life right now. Good friends. Accepting, loving family. Progress.

But it may as well be shit, because that is how I feel. And I can’t explain it.

Even knowing it will pass doesn’t help when you’re in it.

So I sit here drinking mexican beer, in a room full of junk, wondering

What is it all for?

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