Her life, she felt, was a bottomless pit,
an abyss, into which she sank every day.
She worried, she was sad and fearful
for no reason.  She had a wonderful family
that she loved and was loved by.
She awoke each morning with a sense of impending doom, 
crawled out of bed in time to send the children off to school,
kissed her husband when he left for work,
and dragged herself through the day in a deep fog of gloom.
She worried (what did she have to worry about?)
about everything.  Was sad.  It was such a heavy sadness; 
it pressed on her chest, made it hard to breathe.
Stress, anxiety, fear.  It was paralyzing.  There was always a “what if” 
possibility in any situation––accidents, relationships, active shooters, 
walking the dog.  Think of all the things that could go wrong.
And guilt.  Guilty about being so sad for no reason.  
She told no one, certainly not her doctor, who might have prescribed 
an antidepressant, but she had seen advertised on TV
that antidepressants could cause thoughts of suicide.
In the long list of things that made no sense, that had to be
near the top.  Not going there.  
She didn’t drink for relief; she had seen
where that could lead, had led her mother.
They said one could recover after hitting rock bottom,
but what if there was no bottom?  

So she went through the motions, acted normal, 
and put on a smile, pretending to be as happy
as she should have been.