ysobel | (no subject)

There is a trope common to both horror movies and creature-features where the protagonist(s) huddle in an enclosed space like a room or car, and the bad thing -- axe murderer, zombies, demon, evil force, velociraptor, mutant wolf-rhino-mammoth hybrid, whatever -- is very definitely outside. Maybe it's crashing around in brute-force attempts; maybe it's rattling doors or windows, looking for a way in; maybe there's just slow ominous footsteps as it circles.The protagonists do what they can -- locking doors, bracing with their bodies if necessary, barricading entrances -- but they know, and the viewer knows, that it is only an illusion of safety. That they are at best trapped; that it's a guaranteed inevitability the thing will find a way in: a forgotten coal chute or a high window or a weak spot, or just waiting until the protagonist is sleeping/distracted, or ... eventually, somehow, it will get in.

That's how my depression feels right now.

Last night? At the first whiff of I-hate-myself thoughts, I said "not today" and barricaded the mental door. And it worked -- for a whole five minutes. Like some malevolent force in a horror movie, it just doubled down. Tripled. Quadrupled, maybe.

Inevitable.

I started the night watching a Netflix movie as distraction, figuring I'd get sleepy halfway through. I didn't. The middle of the night downgraded to random Facebook videos in a desperate and futile attempt to avoid the crying meltdown that broke at around 4am. I eventually listened to an audiobook for long enough to calm down and sleep for what remained of the night.

I am ok in the sense that I am not in any danger; in most other senses I am not ok. Just good at pretending otherwise.