Depression is not a bad day or couple of days. Depression is not that hibernating feeling we all get when the days are darker and the nights colder. Depression is not the aftermath of a break up or loss. Depression is a glacial pace at which we live life, a way in which our souls erode like a glacier subject to climate change. Depression is self hatred and despising the fact that you’re even alive. Depression is a long haul of being low, an insidious monster that sneaks upon you growing with each dark day, growing greater and greater in the darkness until there is no light.
I wish I could zap out of it, snap out of it and be on with my days, but the truth is I don’t know how many more days I can take living in this darkness. The truth has it that I can’t just snap out of it and make it go away. The truth, it hurts, it hurts every single day that I exist in this cavernous existence of myself. An empty person walking around smiling at you. Depression is hiding behind smiles and hiding behind a mask. Depression is weeping when alone but saying, “yeah yeah I’m cool” on the phone. Not wanting to let another soul know the pain you’re in, the pain within that is seeping into every waking cell like a nasty virus infecting you with madness.
Depression is not knowing whether these thoughts are truly mine and being scared of them, and myself. Being scared that my heart is beating whilst my brain is thinking, overthinking like clock work over every aspect of my life. Am I enough I ask. Am I worthy? Am I worthy of breathing this air that another soul, a better being can use and instead I muster my breath together and soldier on.
Depression is not a sleepless night. It’s a string of sleepless nights tossing and turning wondering where my life has gone. Or conversely the opposite sleeping all day and all night, questioning myself why am I taking up this waste of space that someone else could be using. Sleeping away days and nights because it is easier to shut down than win the fight against no one but yourself. Your own mind becomes your own worst enemy, and I hate that I’m like this. I don’t like to dwell in my own sadness but depression does and eventually once depression has taken over enough depression becomes me. I am depression.
I am walking a glacial pace staring right through you with a sullen face. No mask can hide it as I walk like a ghost, silent in my torture, haunted in my posture. I am the madness. I am the being who is so worthless I cannot live a full life on my own so when you tell me to pull my socks up please understand that it’s going to take all year for me to bend down, grab the threads that I’m hanging onto life by and pull them up and back together for I am a monster. It became me and I became it. I don’t dwell in it, but suffocate and infuriate those around me including myself.
Do you need hospital? They ask. Of course I say no. I am not worthy of a bed when we have a crisis in our midst. I’m not psychotic, I’m not ill, I’m a monster can’t you see.
So I get my head down and read the self help. I get my head down and go to group. I get my head down and go to courses on management and understanding this affliction because I do not want to be a monster, and I don’t want to be infected by torture every day of my waking life. I do not want to be depression, yet I am.
And I say to the dr, please, help me, nothing is working. Nothing is helping me rid myself of this disease because that is what depression is, a disease. Depression is an endless fight against inner demons. Depression is a hopeless end to a bright future. Depression isn’t a blue Monday dated on the calander.