I live... still

I am depressed.

There I said it. Not that saying it seems to solve anything. It never has. The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have it? Phooey. Sometimes it seems to me it's an excuse, but it's not. I'm sure I can fight it though.

I lost everything - my dignity, sanity and even the moderate amounts of intelligence I gave myself credit for. And the thing about hitting bottom is that sometimes by the time you reach, you've already drowned. Or you feel too tired to push yourself up again, and drowning seems like the easier option. Morbid, cowardly and selfish? Perhaps. And yet what gives anyone the right to judge another's path?

I never used to understand the concept of giving someone else the power to end your life, and yet I've given someone the power to save mine. The person I begged and pleaded and wished for wouldn't deign to try, and yet someone saw the shell that was left and considered it beautiful and worth preserving. Life's funny, isn't it? So why isn't gratitude enough? Why can't I let go of old longings? Why must I still reach out to the person who helped put me here?

But can I really blame anyone else? I am responsible for my own life aren't I? It's what I always believed. So why now, when I need it the most, has this belief deserted me, along with the faith I had in myself, in my dreams, in life and in others?

I still haven't figured out how to pick myself up and I'm sort of floundering on the bottom, but I guess I should give myself points for being able to get this out, because a day ago, I couldn't have. Progress in any direction is still progress, right?