The Secret Universe of Depression
I’ve been locked up in my room for a week now. It’s mostly by choice ( if having crippling depressing is a choice). I haven’t showered since the last time I went outside, and I haven’t been eating either. I think about my life and everything I haven’t done. I think about my family. I think about my friends. I think about everything that ever brought me joy and all I can feel is apathy. You’re pathetic. I know, but I need to keep trying, right? My head hurts and all I want to do is cry and sleep. Sleep and cry; look at the sky from my window, it doesn’t call anymore. It doesn’t bring any hope or joy or happiness. What are you doing? I ask myself that question every day, wondering if I’ll ever find my purpose for being. I walk back to my bed. I stare at the stairs that lead up to it for what feels like an eternity. Instead, I sit down on the hard, cold floor.
Mira como llueve, llorona. Come and look at the rain.
I’ve been agonizing over my ever-changing sense of time and reality. I don’t know what is real and what is not anymore. You would think that being aware of your own madness would somehow alleviate the pain that it causes, but awareness of your condition does not cure you of it, unfortunately. Being self-aware doesn’t mean shit, and here I was congratulating myself for it. Pathetic.
I think I’ve become good at numbing the pain and pretending I’m doing great. Smile, idiot. If I keep myself busy, it almost feels as if everything is normal. What the fuck do you know about normal? I’m trying really hard to get better, I swear. Give up. I just can’t help it sometimes. I feel trapped inside my own body. It feels like a prison I can’t escape. It doesn’t help to be constrained in a small room. However, the fleshy prison that holds me hostage demands freedom. It demands care, but the boney walls of my skull contain my brain. It folds itself, begging for mercy. It fires neurons all night. It helps you escape into colorful universes where the mad hatter and the rabbit invite you for tea. Take it. I drink my tea as fall down the dark rabbit hole, only going further down at full force. I choke on my tea, but it doesn’t kill me. How unfortunate.
There's a knock on my door. It brings me back to reality. I crash through the Earth's atmosphere and land in my room.
"Everything okay?" My father asks as I barely open my door. I hide most of myself behind the wooden rectangle. I offer him my biggest smile, which is not that big and tight-lipped.
I close my door once again and wait for the thump thump thump of his steps as he walks away to let out a sigh. Air escapes my lungs; tears wet my face.
I look at myself in the mirror, almost unable to recognize the person staring back at me. I get lost in the red eyes. They look right back at me. What is this? I don’t know where I am. I turn around. Disgusting.
* * *
You think you have life figured out, don’t you? You think that just because you are feeling somewhat stable and sane that you are thriving. You think that everything is going to fall into place. Even your family is giving you their stamp of approval, and that validation is all you ever wanted, right? So, what now? Now that everything seems perfect, what are you going to do? But you know better than anyone that apariencias enganan (looks decieve). And you’re nothing more than a ticking tricky time bomb, waiting, patiently to explode.
* * *
As I walk to and fro, with no destination, I step on mummified tissues, candy wrappers, old papers. The last time my door was opened was when my grandmother come to give me some tea. Traces of honey at the bottom of the mug were already hardened by time. The sounds from the kitchen make my heart beat faster, I can hear my dad’s voice. He’s talking to my grandmother, but all my ear detect are the low murmurs of sound waves not strong enough to travel to my room intact. What are they talking about? Are they talking about me? They don't know I’m broken. They don't know there’s something wrong with me.
I think of what I’ve become. The deep hollow void on my chest is nothing but a black hole. It spins and absorbs all the tiny little creatures crawling all over me; they are anger and sadness. They’re monsters that demand to be felt, they throw tantrums when ignored. Oh no! They know, they know that I’m going crazy. But they don’t believe me when I tell them my secret. I say that I need help. I scream and cry while drowning alive.
I look at myself in the mirror, unable to recognize the person staring back at me. I get lost; the dark circles under her eyes make them look hollow. Empty. They look right back at me. What is this? I don’t know where I am. I turn around. Disgusting. I walk to bed. I close my eyes. I sob, tears wetting the bed under me. I sob until the rabbit visits me again.