The Luxury of Moribundity

For a few months now, I have been carrying this brooding melancholy deep within me. In truth, it has lived inside me for years, so long that I have forgotten where it came from. Suffice it to say, I have no way to be rid of it. Usually it surfaces, lingers for a couple of days, then sinks back beneath the surface, and I am back on track. This time, however, I am realising that it isn’t receding; it has lodged itself in me. I keep trying to shrug it off, but so far I have failed. For a few hours I feel I have shaken it loose, and then it returns. Not like before. I am gripped by a profound lack of motivation about everything. I don’t want to get up. I don’t have the energy to talk to people, the strength to go to the office, or even the will to write an essay. I wish I could sleep and never wake up, but that would leave my family with too many complications, so I cannot entertain it. Of course I know what it means. The signs are worrying, so I have been praying to God not to let me…