A little stream of conciousness before bed...

She curled into a ball on her bed, letting the tears fall for the first time in what had been a long week of wanting that release.  Her pillow was wet by the time the sobs subsided into quiet hiccups of hurt, not that the tears stopped even then.  She focused on breathing, reminding herself that this too would pass, that eventually, one day, she would feel strong once more.  But that day was not today, and with that one thought the sobs began again.

It had not been a particularly horrible day and to be honest, there was no one episode she could relate from her entire week that would justify this moment of weakness, of vulnerability.  But that was depression.  Somehow, though she had never fully understood it before now, the external did not matter.  It was the internal that was in control of her emotions, an internal force that was all the more frightening because she had lost control of it.  It did not matter that her friends stopped by, that her boss asked how she was, or even that the man she loved more than life called several times a day just to check in.  It was not that she thought she was worthless - to be clear, she knew better - or that there was anything horribly wrong in her life.  There was no reason, in the singular or plural for her depression.  It just was.

Some days were better than others.  At times she would go an entire week without feeling the mind-numbing exhaustion, the tears threatening to fall.  Then suddenly, without warning, the symptoms would appear again.  A party she would normally enjoy would bring on social anxiety like she had never felt.  Plans made with excitement days or even hours in advance now seemed not worth the effort to get in the car, much less get dressed.  Life in general was just too hard, too much trouble.  Much simpler to stay in bed, under the dark, warm covers, and sleep.  There was peace in sleep, no guilt, no sorrow.  Even when they appeared in dreams, the feelings passed quickly, not hanging around the edges of her soul as in her waking hours.  

And so, she laid there, crying, sobbing.  Letting her body drain itself of emotion before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

He covered her with a warm blanket, sighing deeply as he brushed a lock of hair from her red, splotchy, beautiful face.  His knuckles grazed her cheek and she smiled slightly in her sleep.  The smile, seen too little when she was awake, made his heart ache.  He knew there was little he could do for her, that she must make the decision to seek help on her own.  Still, he wished he could take away her pain and sadness, exchanging it for the summer of joy and laughter.