Sad

         She sits at her desk in front of her computer, but her mind is elsewhere. It wanders, adrift like a nomad, with no place to call home. She sits with her elbows laid on the desk, her open palms containing the entirety of her face. She is bundled in pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, with hopes of keeping out the cold that bites her naked feet and hands. She wonders if the cold is real, or if it has come with the emotion. Her eyes closed, she feels everything from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes. A sigh brings up a yawn, exhaustion accompanies depression.
         Her eyelids are heavy and burdened, as she allows them to rest a little longer than usual when she blinks. She opens her eyes and looks between her fingers, her cold hands hold her heavy head, her cheeks squished like clay and distorted from her usual pleasant appearance. She allows her face to rest in her hands because it feels too heavy to hold up on her own. Simultaneously her head feels a strange lightness, as if tingling helium were pumped into her brain.
         She feels the presence of a yawn in her throat, along with the presence of a hard, dry lump that she tries to push back down wherever it came from. The lump makes itself known, along with the tears that wish to break through her eyes to trickle from her ducts, fusing her eyelashes together and blurring her vision.
         Everything pulsates in her chest along with her heart. The organ feels thick and slow, struggling with every beat as the pressure in her chest pulls her down toward the floor and pushes the lump further up her throat. She slouches with the weight of the world hanging from a string around her neck, pulling an ache down the length of her spine.
         The balls of her feet are planted on the floor, where an imaginary connection is made. Everything falls upon her, running down her body leaving its weight behind and exiting through her cold feet into the floor.
         She is completely aware of all of her senses, and none of her surroundings. She is enclosed with no one around for miles. She moves, looks in a different direction and just stares. There is no recognition of what she looks at, while there is every bit of recognition. Her depression is the extraordinary awareness of some things, and the extraordinary unconsciousness of the rest. The pain is all over, beginning in the pit of her stomach and twisting outward to every part of her body, lifting and pushing to explode. It begins on her skin, squeezing inward, dragging her down to the floor. Every sound echoes in her ears, bouncing around in her head.
         She is aware of her urge to lie down on the floor and accept the weight that pushes down on her and to give up. She sits alone and looks at the wall, not thinking of anything at all. The spark in her eyes is gone, as if they no longer contained life. Her youth is gone; she looks years beyond her age.
         It hasn’t happened to her in a while, but this used to happen all the time. She wonders if she can change it with the medicine, but hates the idea of being medicated again. She wants to be herself, without artificial aid. It has been so long, why now?
         She waits, deciding painful patience is her only option.