Drowning in Work, Searching for Air

Mood : 1/10

Lately, I’ve been feeling different. At first, I thought it was just a bad mood, a phase that would pass. But as days turned into weeks, I realized this heaviness wasn’t going away. I started skipping work, avoiding plans, and choosing to stay in my room rather than face the outside world. I thought I was just feeling off, but after a visit to my psychiatrist, I heard words I wasn’t expecting: You’re in the middle of depression.

I had convinced myself that I was just tired or unmotivated, that I just needed a break. But hearing my doctor say it out loud made it real. The decisions I’ve been making, the way I’ve been isolating myself, even the distractions I use to escape—these aren’t just signs of a rough patch. They’re symptoms of something deeper.

One of the biggest things weighing on me is work. My job isn’t just a job—it’s a role where things don’t move without me. People depend on me to keep everything running, and knowing that adds another layer of exhaustion to my already drained mind. It’s not that I don’t love what I do—I actually do. I enjoy the work itself, the challenges, the structure. But lately, the pressure of being needed all the time feels suffocating.

I’ve been thinking about switching jobs, not because I hate my role, but because I want to be somewhere that still functions without me. I don’t want to be the person holding everything together anymore. I just want to do my work and leave, knowing that if I take a day off, things won’t collapse.

But thinking about career changes is exhausting in itself. I don’t have the energy to figure out the next step, yet I can’t ignore this feeling either.

It’s not just work—I’ve also noticed how much I struggle with commitments in general. Whether it’s gym classes or plans with friends, I find myself saying yes at first, only to cancel later. It’s not that I don’t want to go. Sometimes, I even want to push myself. But when the time comes to actually get ready and go, it feels like a massive weight pressing down on me.

I talked to my doctor about this too, and it turns out it’s another sign of depression. The avoidance, the desire to stay in my room, the exhaustion of thinking about following through—it’s all connected. I used to think I was just being flaky, but now I understand that my brain is fighting me in ways I didn’t even realize.

Even the gym, something I usually enjoy, feels like a battle. I keep checking my gym classes, feeling like I should go, but dreading the commitment of actually getting there, changing, working out, and going through the motions. The same goes for meeting friends. I want to be with them, but the energy it takes to socialize feels like too much.

This is the question that lingers in my mind the most. Will I ever feel like myself again? Will I ever wake up and not feel this heaviness, this resistance to everything? The truth is, I don’t know when that will happen, but I do know that it’s possible.

Depression makes you feel like this is forever, like you’ll always feel stuck, but logically, I know that’s not true. I know things can get better. My doctor increased my medication dose, and while it’ll take weeks to see any effect, I have to remind myself that it’s a step toward healing.

For now, I’m trying to take things day by day. I don’t have to make big decisions about work immediately. I don’t have to force myself into plans I can’t handle. But I can do small things—respond to a friend’s text, sit outside for fresh air, stretch instead of a full workout. Tiny steps that remind me I’m still moving, even if it’s slow.

One of the hardest things right now is allowing myself to rest without feeling guilty. My instinct is to push through, to keep going, to avoid “falling behind.” But the truth is, I need this rest. I need to take care of myself before I burn out completely.

If you’re feeling the same way—if work feels like too much, if plans feel exhausting, if you’re stuck in this cycle of avoiding things you used to enjoy—I want you to know that you’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just going through something incredibly difficult, and that’s okay.

I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m trying. And for now, that’s enough.