Nobody warns you that depression is boring. Not some dramatic collapse you can point to and say “that was the day.” Just Tuesday. Then Wednesday, which feels exactly like Tuesday. You check your phone and can’t remember which conversation happened when, because none of the days had anything to tell them apart.
That’s the trap. Any single flat week has a perfectly good explanation. Busy month. Bad sleep. Normal stuff happens. It’s only once you’re several weeks deep, and someone asks “how have you actually been?”, that you do the math out loud for the first time and hear how it sounds.
If your calendar’s started looking like one long grey smear, you’re not imagining it. And you’re probably not the only one who’s stopped bothering to check what day it is.