Ive been in the hospital for about 4 or 5 days now. Maybe 6. Ive lost count. They told me that I should feel stronger by Saturday. And maybe they assumed Saturday because it is the weekend, and according to the sound of that word, my weakness would soon come to an end. But as Saturday crept up on me, i felt like it wasnt my weekend, it was my week continue. Everyday felt like Monday mornings and every night felt like Sunday dinners. They said if I hadnt improved theyd put me on medications. They told me that soon enough, I would become normal. Like them and everyone else in the world around me. I asked the doctors what defined normal? They smiled at me, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and left.
I was diagnosed with depression, and though I am constantly living in a world of sorrow, it actually has its benefits. I think deeply about the world I live in and I often observe what is going on around me. Since I feel things so deeply, I can often find myself relating to peoples struggles and find reasons to give them hope. With the meds they give me, I guess I will be more like them. But would I rather be the sand resting in one place for the rest of my life, or the ocean; drifting along the cruel world discovering the universe and carrying organisms along with me.