I don't even know how it started. All of a sudden I was in a pile on my living room floor, sobbing. Then, I got up and left. We all went out to dinner and I pretended it hadn't happened. I tried to be discreet when I wiped away the tears over my quesadilla and beer.
The next day, I was sick, which was serendipitous because I wouldn't have gotten out of bed until it was time to go to work at 6pm anyway.
Sick again the next day. Dragged myself to work feeling like I would implode on myself at any moment. Left early, thankful that I could go back to bed.
My physical illness got better, but the emotional illness didn't. I started spending evenings with my parents so I wouldn't have to be alone drowning in what I've now named The Doom. It's the worst it's been in years.
Fuck you, The Doom.
Fuck not being able to do simple things like feed myself or do a load of laundry.
Fuck not having an answer when my well-meaning dad asks, "Honey... what's wrong?"
Fuck getting better for a while and then feeling The Doom creep up and then crying in bed for a few hours.
Fuck the horrible things The Doom makes me say to myself, about myself.
"You probably couldn't hack grad school anyway."
"Maybe if you were less disgusting things would be different."
"You should quit the play, and your job, and sell your house... and just disappear."
In the back of my mind I know The Doom will pass. I know the weight will lift and brushing my teeth won't seem like skiing up a hill anymore. But for right now I feel like I can't hold it together. I feel like I never want to leave this house, or even my bed.
So, to my old friend The Doom: Get bent.