It’s time to pull myself out of paralyzing self-pity and go back to the routines.

The last few days was a demented period. During this time, I was stupefied by unnecessary worries, or overwhelmed by daily trivial miseries, and almost always petrified by numbing pains that spreading my body.

I was being consumed in the fiery coals of ruthless depression. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to move, to learn, to exercise, to do anything productive, or to live.

The monsters are real. The ghosts are real. And they live deeply inside our hearts. I know there is one in mine, the one named depression.

And perhaps it had absorbed enough nutrition from my husband’s whining, my son’s grumbling, and my mumbling. It became stronger and stronger, and finally broke free.

It’s horrified to set free your monster. All the colors seemed to be drained out from the world, and everything else pulled away from your life except the everlasting fatigue. It took so much troubles even just to breathe.

I don’t know which one is more devastating, the cancel or the depression. Both of them are after my blood. If I let either one win, I die, literally.

It is not the fear of death. No, that fear has always been there, and I accept it as the shadow under the sunshine, for most of time I tried to think it as a permanent probability, not an immediately reality.

It’s like always, one thing adding to another, and finally the avalanche of trivialities finally buried you alive. And suddenly, you were like, Why bother?

Nobody would understand. Stop overconcerning yourself. Be positive. Look at the funny side of the things! Those kind and nice words making you feel worse. They are basically saying, it’s all your fault because you are not strong enough.

Sometimes, you have to be your own hero and fight your own monster.