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Day 22: Brushing teeth.
Do you know how hard it is to brush your teeth when you’re depressed? How violent the bristles feel even under the limpness of your hand? The mint paste might as well be bile. Nothing about clean teeth compels a person to want to live.
When you’re depressed, all the weight migrates to your feet. You drag cinderblocks of apathy around, only sinking deeper into yourself as you try to move through your days. If you had any energy, you’d use it to disappear.
To even say you’re half-hearted would even be too generous. It’s a wonder how useless a person can feel. The only emotion you feel is that you miss caring about something. Anything.
Days and hours feel the same. Time becomes the enemy when good days feel farther and farther apart. Even two minutes at the sink, a lifetime.
But you muster through. Dragging plastic fibers across pearly whites like barb wire over smooth skin. And you’re already wondering how you’ll do this all over again, wage war in your mouth once more.
Song: Forever — Labrinth
