WARNING: This post deals with depression, and may be upsetting for some readers.
This is the hardest blog I’ve ever attempted to write.
For the better part of eight months, I have been struggling under the thumb of a rather intense depression. This is a monster I’ve battled many times in my life; it is not new. Yet, this has been a particularly brutal one, and I’m not out of the woods yet.
As a writer, I try to write about everything. But it’s hard to write about depression. For one, there’s the fear that the minute you say, “I’m suffering from depression,” people will look at you funny. That they will nod at you with wincing, constipated face, place a hand on your arm and say, with all good intent, “How are you?”
And your pain will war with your desire to be “normal” and not looked at funny by sympathetic people at parties. So you will answer, “Fine, thanks” while you’ll think of all the things you could say: “Partly cloudy with a strong chance of rain later?” “Mostly okay except for that silent sobbing I did on the F train this afternoon which frightened the school children.” “Well, I’m okay now but around 10pm I could be drinking from a seemingly bottomless cup of self-loathing, so stick around if you’re into that sort of thing.” You do not want to be labeled “That Depressed Person,” which was not a show on ABC.
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Thank you for writing this! I've struggled with depression the last 5 years and as a result am still working away at my undergraduate degree after I had hoped to graduate. It is certainly hard to explain how it feels if you have never experienced it, but I wrote this piece for a journalism class and hadn't known where to share it, until now. I hope I can help in any way just as yours has.
A Sleepless Prison
Experiencing true, euphoric joy for the
first time in years, I feel like a prisoner. Ignoring the shred of razor wire,
deafening howl of alarms and searchlights harsh glare I make my escape into the
‘real’ world. A world where my senses are
awakened and my mind indulges guiltlessly in the joy of living. Leaving behind
my jailer, I revel in the smell of dusty horses and leather, the silken
softness of cats fur and dew-soaked mornings spent wrapped in a blanket on the
veranda, gazing out over the farm with steaming coffee warming my fingertips. I
live my life as a fugitive, trading in a new currency of smiles and rationality
I am rewarded two-fold by the lit up gaze and benevolent grins I receive in
return. All the while I remain wary of my captor, lurking in my minds shadows,
waiting for me to slip and fall.
My jailor, the one that has pursued me, the
one that has haunted me has a name, yet no body, a motive but no soul. My
tormentor is depression. Some people think that depression numbs the mind,
makes the rhythm of life flow in slow motion, but my life became punctuated by
constant thought. Although I didn’t wear an orange jumpsuit, my mind was a cell
and I occupied my time there marking my faults like chalk strokes on the wall
and peering through the bars. I
attempted to read the consciousness of others and procure what they thought of
me. How they judged.
Constantly seeking the purpose in
everything, I found value in nothing. Unless something was a means to an end, I
found it pointless –fun was the first thing to go, overtaken by a lethargic
desire to simply ‘exist’ in a world that was no longer mine but devoid of
control. Like breaking stones in the prison yard, everyday tasks chiseled away
at my resolve and even minor criticisms shattered my will like a sledgehammer.
Sleep became an elusive prize, a battle won
only by exhaustion. Each toss and turn made morning an occasion greeted by
relief followed shortly after by the realization of another day ahead. I awoke
like a dog, exited by the return of his owner, only to watch him walk away.
I remember climbing out my bedroom window
night after night, tip-toeing my way down the path through a maze of pots and rogue
tree limbs and hazily pushing my weary body through the wires of the back
fence. A low whinny acknowledged my presence as I slid in my headphones and
shuffled into position on my horses broad back. Falling off was nothing
compared to the pain of being trapped in my razor-wired mind so there I sat,
the repetitive pulse of the music drowning out my thoughts with only the moon
to gaze down on us. He became my sole confidante, never judging, never telling,
only bobbing his head occasionally to pick at the grass or shaking his mane as
if to shake me out of my turmoil.
Climbing back into bed, the seconds turned
to hours, the fluorescent glow of my alarm clock mocking me as each minute
flicked by as a rearrangement of green bars on blackened screen. Such had
become my life –minutes past marking out tasks endured and taking precedence
over joys to come. I trudged on, trapped in the dreary monotony of daily life. An empty shell, sucked dry of the colour and
vibrancy it once contained only to be replaced by the harsh purple shadows
beneath my eyes and grey cloud looming overhead.
Coffee became as valuable to me as liquid
gold, a faithful mainstay allowing me to function just well enough to divert
suspicion that all was not well in my world. I had become a master of falsified
emotions, going through the motions of social niceties. In a caffeinated daze,
I would nod when prompted, mutter hurried responses to queries and on occasion,
force my lips into a submissive smile.
My eyes gave me away. No amount of
concealer or coats of mascara could erase the shadows beneath them or weary
glaze, even so, meeting the gaze of another proved my most difficult obstacle.
I felt like a nocturnal creature, emerging against my will from the safety of
darkness to a place where every glance was a threat and the sunlight blinded me
with its painful whiteness.
Feigned enthusiasm and an overt eagerness
to please became my weapons of choice against these perceived threats. I may
have been the only inmate in the enclosure of my mind, yet everyone and
everything, my jailor warned me, were out to kill. Superior to me in
intelligence, looks and vivacity, my friends and family became to me like a
panel of judges. They sat condemning my faults as the jurors watched on, my
teachers, peers and neighbors amongst them.
Like acid burning away at my skin, the pain
of scrutiny, real or perceived, became a burden too heavy for my aching limbs
to support. Exhausted, I finally submitted to the probing questions of a
doctor, tears tumbling down my cheeks where constant streams had formed well-worn
furrows, their salty warmth a strange comfort.
Medicated, my world seemed suddenly calm.
My pain was numbed and my captor anesthetised but not destroyed. I started
going to the gym, setting free my body on the treadmill with my irrational
fears behind me as motivation –setting free my mind –albeit temporarily.
Eventually, I ridded my self of the tablets
that had obscured my view of the world, smothering me like a protective mother,
too afraid to let her child experience the world’s pains, yet preventing them
from experiencing it at all. I started to talk. As if learning to speak again
–to connect with another on a level that transcended the weather, homework or superficiality
–topics I had once deemed safe. I called friends for enjoyment, to share in
dreams, desires, daily highlights in place of the cold drone of complaints and
mental ailments.
Most important of all, I evicted my captor
from his post in my consciousness, changing the locks, one walk, one heartfelt
discussion and one act of self-belief at a time. Sunshine is no longer a
taunting contrast to the darkness that once shrouded my outlook, its warm rays
permeate my skin, imparting their uplifting vigor as they radiate to my core.
Thank you for describing perfectly how it feels. Thank you.