My world stopped when she looked at me with knowing eyes and said “Okay, I have a question for you”
“Okay”, I said shrugging, an open book with tattered pages.
“How long have you been depressed?” she said.
“This time?” I asked.
How long have you been depressed?, was the question
but it sounded a lot more like
“I noticed you didn’t put out a “Self-Love Sunday” post
“Your eyes are telling me that right now you’re having a hard time loving the parts of you that aren’t pretty, forgiving the parts of you that desperately need it and accepting the parts of you that have yet to heal”
She said, “Does it last more than two-weeks?”
And I heard,
“How long is it pitch black? I know it’s grey for a while but how long are you at the bottom of the abyss?”
“How much time do you spend physically incapable of getting out of bed?”
“How many weeks do you set your alarm clock for 3 hours before you actually need to get up because that’s how much time you need to just lay in bed with the intention of starting your day.”
I also heard,
“Do you need tips or medication?”
“Is a prescription the only solution to a self-diagnosed problem?”
A day later, I’ve replayed our interaction a thousand times in my mind.
She literally looked right through me.
She saw exactly what I tried to hide.