Journal of Shadows

March 3rd

Morning came again, unwelcome and heavy. I opened my eyes to find the ceiling above me, gray and indifferent, like the lid of a coffin. The sunlight slipped through the blinds in soft, golden stripes, painting patterns on the wall. It should have felt warm, but instead, it felt mocking—a light I couldn’t reach.

Dragging myself out of bed was like clawing my way out of a deep, muddy pit. My body felt brittle, as if I might shatter under the strain. I shuffled to the window and stared out at the world moving without me: cars gliding by, people walking with purpose, a dog tugging at its leash.

It felt like I was watching life through thick, frosted glass. Close enough to see, but too far to touch.

March 5th

Today, I forced myself to leave the house. The air was crisp, the kind that stings your lungs and sharpens your senses, but even that couldn’t cut through the haze inside me.

At the store, I ran into someone I used to know. Her smile was bright, almost blinding, and I felt like a shadow standing next to her.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice full of life.

“Good,” I lied, pulling the words from somewhere deep inside me. “Just busy.”

Busy. It felt laughable. My days are filled with nothing but an aching void, a slow crawl from one hour to the next. But how could I tell her that? How could I explain the weight of carrying yourself when your own mind feels like a traitor?

March 7th

I didn’t leave my bed today. The blankets wrapped around me like chains, heavy and unyielding. Every muscle in my body felt like it was weighed down by lead, even my eyelids.

I tried to distract myself, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. Photos of smiling faces, success stories, adventures in places I’ll never see. It felt like they were from another world—a brighter, happier world I no longer belong to.

The room around me blurred. The walls seemed to press in closer, suffocating me in their silence. It felt like I was sinking into quicksand, every attempt to move only dragging me deeper.

March 8th

It rained today, a steady, relentless downpour. Once, I would have welcomed it. Rain used to be comforting, a symphony of soft taps against the window, a lullaby for restless nights.

Today, it was just another weight. The sky was a dull, oppressive gray, mirroring the storm inside me. The air smelled of wet pavement and regret. I sat by the window, watching droplets race each other down the glass, wishing I could be washed away as easily.

I tried to write, hoping to untangle the mess in my mind, but the words refused to come. Depression isn’t something you can capture in ink. It’s a shadow with no shape, a scream with no sound.

March 10th

A bird caught my eye today. It was tiny, a bright splash of yellow against the dull gray of the sidewalk. It hopped from one puddle to the next, its feathers gleaming even in the muted light.

For a moment, I felt something stir inside me. It wasn’t happiness, not quite, but a flicker of something lighter than the crushing weight I’ve grown used to.

The moment passed quickly, but it stayed with me, like the ghost of a smile lingering on my lips. Maybe it’s enough to remind me that not everything is gray. Not always.

March 13th

Therapy today.

I sat in the chair, staring at the tissue box on the table, willing myself to speak. The words felt like pebbles in my mouth, rough and jagged, but I finally let them spill out: the emptiness, the guilt, the endless war in my head.

My therapist listened without interruption, her eyes steady and kind. When I finished, she said something that stuck with me: “Depression isn’t who you are; it’s what you’re experiencing.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that there’s still a version of me beyond this, someone I can reclaim. But the shadows feel so entwined with me, like vines choking the life out of a tree.

March 15th

I laughed today.

It startled me, the sound of it breaking through the silence like a crack of thunder. It was over something silly—a video a friend sent me, an old inside joke I’d forgotten. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt like the world tilted back into focus.

The laughter faded, but the memory of it lingered, a faint warmth in the cold expanse of my mind. It reminded me of a time when laughter was effortless, when joy wasn’t something I had to chase.

I wonder if I can find my way back to that version of myself.

March 18th

The bad days don’t need a reason. They arrive unannounced, wrapping around me like a fog that refuses to lift.

Today, the void felt deeper than ever, an endless black hole pulling me in. I couldn’t escape it, couldn’t distract myself. Every thought spiraled into the same dark place: You’re not enough. You never were.

I hate how convincing those thoughts are. They’re like poison, seeping into every corner of my mind until I can’t tell what’s real anymore.

I want to rest. Not die—just stop. Stop feeling, stop thinking, stop being.

March 20th

My therapist asked me to write down something I’m grateful for each day. It felt like a ridiculous task, but I said I’d try.

Today, I’m grateful for Emily. She called me, her voice soft and steady, asking how I was without prying too much. She didn’t try to fix me or fill the silence with empty words. She just… stayed.

It didn’t pull me out of the darkness, but it reminded me that I’m not completely alone.

March 25th

I went for a walk today. Just around the block, but it felt monumental, like reclaiming a small piece of myself.

The air was sharp and cold, biting at my cheeks. The trees were still bare, their branches reaching toward a pale, indifferent sky, but I noticed buds starting to form. Life, waiting to bloom.

The world felt quieter out there, softer. I could hear my own breath, steady and rhythmic, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel like a struggle.

Maybe that’s the trick—finding these small moments of peace, these tiny victories.

March 31st

A month of writing these entries, and I’m still here. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Some days, it feels like I’m documenting a losing battle, a slow descent into something I can’t escape. But other days, like today, it feels like I’m holding onto something—hope, maybe.

The shadows are still here, heavy and persistent, but so am I.

For now, that’s enough.