I tell myself all the time that I’m happy. I have daily talks with myself, about myself. I try to drain the outside noise to focus on what’s more important, but sadly, my brain has a hard time choosing me.
I never thought my life would be this difficult. I’ve heard talks about depression, but never imagined it would happen to me. One minute I’m fine and the next minute I’m in a daze. I get so lost in my own thoughts, that old emotions become new again; and without a doubt, here goes the roller coaster I’m forced to ride...
I separate myself from the world. I try to leave in a ‘Chameleon type’ of way; blend in, until I disappear. In this moment and time, I’m not thinking about anyone else besides myself. I want solitude; I need it. My heart starts beating rapidly and I lose sight of myself. I start to shake. I rock myself back and fourth to sooth my disturbed body. The tears roll out of my eyes and onto my face, burning my cheeks. I grab the only photograph I have of my deceased brother and thought, “when did I become so lost”?
I realized depression lived here a long time ago. I remember as a kid, suppressing my thoughts and feelings because I assumed no one would understand. I vividly remember a particular time where I locked myself in the closet of my fathers room. We lived in the basement of our old family house on Cynthia Lane. As a single father, my dad worked often to provide for my siblings and I. Despite his absence, he made sure we were taken care of. I understood that, but I always had a hole in my heart where my mother belonged. Her absence was questioned, and I often wondered if my siblings and I weren’t enough.
Before being able to speak so openly about my depression, I damaged myself by holding everything in. I held onto everything; afraid that I would be judged, perceived differently, abandoned, or even laughed at. I didn’t want any attention to my situation so I did what I knew how to do best; stay quiet. This broke me down. Some days I would desperately need help realigning myself with the world, but because of how terrified I was, I kept it to myself while falling apart in the process. I made sure the outside world had no clue of my condition by pretending that I was alright. I walked with my head held high and a smile on my face, while silently screaming out for help.
Enough was enough! I grew tired. My appearance spoke for itself. I didn’t care about my health or my life. I wanted things to end and I wanted to stop carrying this burden. I couldn’t fake it anymore. My teachers became concerned, my friends asked questions, and my family were confused. No one knew what was going on with me. In my head, I made it seem as if they didn’t care because no one bothered to ask me about something I kept a secret for a long time. How could they have known ? I lashed out and carried on like this for awhile until I decided to take matters into my hands; I contemplated on taking my own life.
The weight became unbearable to hold. My silence became too hard to keep, and my mind was as fragile as a newborn baby. I just wanted to rest for a second. Let go of all my worries and finally, choose me! I needed to choose me. It was time to speak up.
Now, as an adult, I still get depressed, but I also live here too. I took the initiative to find a psychiatrist and a therapist, that I can see or speak to weekly. I’m more open with my family members about my feelings and letting them also give their input on whatever situation I may have. I started finding different coping skills to keep my mind from wandering; one of which happens to be writing. Lastly, I found myself again.
Side note : I would like this short story about myself to encourage everyone with a mental illness, to continue fighting. If you or someone else you may know is battling with depression specifically, please speak up and chose yourself every time.