I have told myself that I must keep going.
But I was wrong.
Going is not the problem.
I can still cook, weed and do laundry.
I can still clean and shop.
I can do anything I want to.
But I don’t want to.
This is not depression. I know it well.
This is despair.
My heart is not broken, it’s missing.
I am afraid of this non-feeling mode.
I do things, but I don’t feel things.
So now, instead of telling myself I must keep going
I am urging myself to keep caring.
I usually care too much.
Now I am numb.