February 5th 2025 - Depression

This is a bad day.

I feel apathetic, distant from the world. In reality, it has been like this for days. I am at the mercy of events, lacking the strength to react to the facts of life. I am particularly depressed. The term "depression" is commonly used to indicate a state of sadness: a depressed person is seen as a melancholic being who sees the glass half empty and is unable to find joy in the beauty that life can offer.

It is not so.

The symptoms of depression are not necessarily sadness or despair. For me, the hallmark of it is indifference. The world passes through me, sliding off like I’m covered in pitch. Existence cannot penetrate this shell, within which lies soft, flabby flesh.

I live with a constant sense of drowsiness; my eyelids are heavy and my eyes are inflamed. I reject the idea of moving or interacting with others. My phone fills up with messages that I don't check. I lose interest in any action I've taken and struggle to delve into the memories that surface.

Writing is difficult, and I can only manage it partially when I describe the present moment. But it takes so little to divert my gaze from the screen. My mind wanders aimlessly, observing the objects around it without assigning any meaning to them. It merely receives sensory information from my eyes, ears, and touch, but does not process it.

Time passes, and it is late afternoon. Only now does my consciousness have a jolt and judge me: “You haven't done anything; you’re a slacker! Aren’t you ashamed?” those are its words. Yes, I am ashamed, and to please you, I also feel guilty.

Then I think about how my body feels, how it takes so little to make me feel out of breath. I wonder how much my health affects my mood and vice versa. Everything is interconnected, but I don’t know to what extent. The more I reflect, the more I feel a sense of emptiness grow in my stomach, because there is no answer to that question.

This hole in my stomach brings up other thoughts, none of which are happy. I see Paola's face, her expressions during the moments we shared. The bitterness of no longer enjoying her company overwhelms me. I try to stave off these visions by listing her character weaknesses: her fear of others' judgment, her fear of dogs, her tendency to hide from friends and family. These are more than fair considerations, and they should be enough to understand that her distancing was for the best.

But then why do they always resurface? Why, two years later, is the sadness as strong as when she sent me the farewell message?

I have overcome all disappointments; I have explained them to myself and found a reason. But with Paola, this does not happen. She is a ghost that haunts me, feeding off my feelings.