It’s really horrifying, how I could believe I had everything under control; as that control slowly unwinds, I watch the bits and pieces of normalcy fall away.

I forget, somehow, that my depression and my obsessive-compulsive disorder are tightly linked, and that the longer my depression goes on, the more severe my compulsions get.

I find myself failing to control compulsions I’ve been free of for years.

Annoying, that.

But, it’s logical, in that strange twisted way only mental illness can be.

As I lose control of my mood, my need for control in other parts of my life ramps up, hence, the compulsions.

My disordered mind finds solace in patterns and repetition, wishing to see there the seeds of order I lack elsewhere.

But of course, as calming as these compulsions and repetitions may be, they only feed my self-loathing: if I were a GOOD person, I could control these things. I can’t control them, therefore, I’m every bit as horrible as the lying bastard depression tells me I am.

Meanwhile, the rational part of my mind is bound and gagged in the corner, yet still attempting to get the signal out (through morose code, of course) to the emotional basket case part of my mind, “This too, shall pass. This too, shall pass.”

So tonight, that’s the repetition I’ll take with me:

This too, shall pass.

This too, shall pass.