The Valley

I recognize the stages. It starts out with slight discrepancies in my organization and preparedness; an assignment that gets forgotten about until just days before, showing up late for class, a messy room, papers everywhere except where they should be. . . . Then, slowly, slowly it progresses, until, at the first major peak of assignments, responsibilities, deadlines, my life erupts.

I had tried to ignore this when I saw it coming weeks ago. I lied to myself that it was the late nights that were making it suddenly hard to get out of bed. I ignored the spiritual slippery-slope, the shucked responsibilities, even the apathetic dullness that seemed to have thickened over my motivation to do much of anything, even keep up with good friends.

The pattern is the same. I have a lot to do, but can't concentrate on anything; I just want to hide away and run for sleep's cover. I inevitably miss a deadline or two. I get behind, and I can't bear the idea of the look I know I will see in my professors' dissecting eyes, the tone I will hear in their voices and their slicing words. I can't bear to face my failure, and I slowly remove myself from the lives of all but those I care most about. I exult mere musings of isolation into a reality I have chosen and created over the course of a few short weeks. I feel next to nothing, except shame and despondency, and although I can still enjoy a good friend's joke, I feel as though made out of cardboard. I lose even a desire to eat, but I eventually do so out of boredom or the sheer logic of necessity. I sabotage myself before anyone else can, and I hide away from people in general in order to avoid the disappointed, accusing stares of those who have relied on me and whom I have let down, or those who see me as a tremendous, sad waste of potential. I get stuck in this cyclical mindset, and I drag myself further, further, deeper down into a pit.

I haven't made it through all of these phases of the descent yet, but I have certainly started through the progression. It worries me. It scares me.

I don't have time for another deep depression. I don't have time for a minor one. I'm not prepared for the emotional, physical, educational, social, and spiritual tolls of this.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope this isn't another bout of depression.