I'm Backkkkk...And So Is My Unwelcome Fiend

    I really didn't mean to pull a vanishing act. My muse just...died.
    Along with my feelings, it seems.
    Because my depression decided midterm season was a fan-tast-ic time to return.
    And I was like: no. Depression can't come back. I'm on medication and I have friends and cats. Please. I'm just a bit down because my grandma is sick and my synthesis exam was the intellectual equivalent of a crucio curse.
    Never ming the familiar dull ache, the lack of interest in pretty much everything slowly spreading throughout my life. Never mind that day-after-day I felt the urge to scream and cry while sitting in my physical organic chemistry class (which I really like, for the record). Never mind the restlessness, the need to flee and find magic far away because there's no more life around or in me.
    Never mind the lie that this blog is crap and I'm going to lose all my friends by blogging terribly.

    Maybe I need to see a counselor again, but it's normal to feel stressed because look at all that's going on. I'm not depressed. I can't be. I'm supposed to wean off these antidepressants soon. I've been doing so well.
    I'm not suicidal this time, not even close, so I'm fine. 
    And yet...I'm not fine. I just want to cry. I'm scared and abnormally tired and sleep just sprays weird dreams across my weary mind. (Not that I altogether mind the dreams, since they're great fodder for stories, but more rest would be welcome).

    Still, I don't want to return to a counselor. Not because it's not helpful - it is. Not because I'm scared of them agreeing that my depression is back. Looking back, I've probably had depressive episodes since I was thirteen.
    I don't want to return because what if the counselor says I'm not depressed? What if she says I'm just a selfish, self-deluded narcissist who blames everything on her mental health because I like excuses and want to feel special?
    Ouch, that hurt to write. I guess my fear, after all this time, remains that I'm a horrible person.

    I guess I could deal with having depression, even though depression is hardly okay. I just want myself, me, to be okay. To be lovable and a good person.
    I just want to feel worthy of love. Maybe that's weak or silly or whiny, but love must be paramountly important, right? Look around us - we all need love. I really believe that.
    So I guess maybe that's why the phrase "God is love" sucks me in.
    I guess that's why I just want to hug all my friends, online and in person, and hope they know I love them, too - I love them fiercely even through the numbness.
    (Actually, I'd be down to hug nearly everyone who ever existed. If that makes me crazy, so be it).

    In working through this not-so-sane post, I see it's a good thing I made that weekly therapist appointment again. And that I found this picture:

LOOK AT THE JOY ON ITS FACE. LOOK AT THE FRIENDSHIP. LOOK AT THE CATS. 

    So, yup. That's what's been going on with me. What's been going on with you? How can I pray for you or listen to you? <3

Love,
Kelley