Depression sucks.
It has this thing it likes to do. When I mentally have my guard down for a bit, it imagines worst-case scenarios for my family and I. I could be driving along and suddenly…
“What if you husband gets hurt in a car wreck? What if he doesn’t come home?”
or
“What if you get sick? Cancer runs in the family. What will become of you?
And for unknown reasons, my imagination will allow this to play out in my head. Over and over again until I’m miserable. I can fight it off some days, but not all of them.
It’s scary that my brain can manage that kind of sadism. Self-inflicted sadism at that.
I’m sick.
