Imagine a warm blanket wrapping around your body. At first, everything is fine and you barely even notice that your very being is slowly being swallowed. As time passes, you try to wiggle out of the blanket — what you once thought was warm and cozy is actually full of holes and so very cold. Struggle as hard as desired, but the blanket only wraps tighter around you. Soon, you are so very cold, your skin screams and begs for freedom and you cry and scream out, but no one comes for you. To the outside world, it looks as if a person is just lying there with a blanket, nothing more. Only you are aware of the battle you're facing and, before you know it, the blanket has encased your entire body. You cannot breathe, you cannot cry for help, you cannot run. You lay drowning in the darkness as a seemingly simple piece of material digs into your skin and forces its way into your mouth and nostrils. There is no point in coming for your eyes, for when you try to look, all you see is darkness.
Back when I was a 7th grader, I had transferred schools. Of my (extremely small) group of friends from my old school, there were a couple of girls I used to talk to. One we'll call Jessie, the other we'll call Callie.
Depression. It's something that more people seem to go through now, more than ever. Have you ever felt depressed? If you have, has anyone shot down the idea that you might actually be depressed, just because you're not showing any classic symptoms (i.e: not being able to get out of bed, and not acting happy)?
You're going to have good and bad days, but you have to remember nothing happens overnight.
Drowning in a pit of my own sanity. Trying to overcome the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and defeat, I am begging… pleading with my brain to let me rest, let me sleep. I need a break from life and reality, I know that’s not plausible but it’s so necessary. I am hurting on a deep level. The lifelong wounds to my soul have never healed, never have I been able to conciliate the pain. I don’t know how to live anymore. Do I continue on this path of destruction? Or do I take a step back to allow myself sanctity? Most of us have this preconceived, movie/ tv screen depiction of depression molded firmly into our brains. We see the beautiful girl laying in bed crying and yielding a bucket of ice cream, angrily rejecting all of her friend’s desperate attempts to make her feel better. Or the skinny boy sitting in a room full of his closest friends and family, guarded off in a dulled corner with sad puppy-dog eyes, shooing off everyone who tries to console him with a shrug and a bleak, “I’m okay”.
Depression — a fucked up way of realizing reality isn't so perfect.
This is not a fairy tale. There are no happy endings here.
Is anyone ever listening? How do I know that you're listening? How do I know that you care? Will you listen to me and help me find an answer or solution? Can you understand me? Are you willing to try to understand me? How in the hell can I get you to understand?
Every morning I fight myself to wake up. I fight myself to get out of bed. My bed is my only safe place. It’s the only place where my anxiety is at ease. My bed is also my enemy; it’s where my thoughts start racing and my depression kicks in. It’s where I cry and fight my emotions about what people think or say about me. The blankets act as arms and cuddle me with their embrace. How can I leave such a soothing yet destructive place? When I finally pull myself up out of bed, I slowly find myself in my bathroom in front of my mirror where I stare into what depression and anxiety looks like. Tired, bloodshot eyes; messy hair; a face that’s breaking out from the stress. I stare into my own eyes, which tell so many stories of emotion and how I feel. I see the hurt and the pain that I cover up every day with a fake smile. I struggle to get ready and try to convince myself to lay back in bed. The world is a scary place; just go back to bed where you’re truly safe. Yet I fight to continue on, and I slowly make it outside, the sun making my eyes squint, because my blacked-out shades in my bedroom hide my eyes from the sun. I cover my eyes trying to hide my emotions from the world. My clothes still say a lot about me; black is my color. Black to hide my emotions, to hide who I really am—or is it to express what I really feel? I meet my friends, putting on that fake smile; they know what I’m covering up. They question and push till I break and tell them what I’m really feeling. It feels good to tell them that it’s truly difficult to actually leave my bed. For that little moment in life spent with my friends, I actually feel happy. I feel complete, like I never struggled at all. That’s until reality hits, when I step foot into my house. Everything hits again, a whirl wind of anxiety and depression all at once. How can I have such a great time, yet feel so sad? It’s this sickness I struggle with, it’s an illness that will forever be with me. No matter how good of a day I have, I struggle at the end of the day. It’s the little moments that keeps my feet on the ground. I can have the best day of my life and still feel like I’m not good enough for this world. I truly drown myself with emotions when I walk through the front door of my house. I create my own loneliness and destructive behavior. I have to remember that no matter how much I’m struggling, I have people that love me whom I can just call if I need to. I’m a lucky one; I have that outlet. My illnesses push me to be that person for anyone that needs someone. I know what it’s like to be at the end of your rope and someone saves my life. Don’t give up on who you are, live for the little happy moments. Push yourself; I promise when living life it’s truly beautiful. It’s hard reaching out for help when you think the world is out to get you. I have so many outlets to help me forget who I am or my life, music being the main one. I shove the earbuds as far as they’ll go into my ears. I turn the music up loud, and I hold on to every lyric that is being sung to me. Find a positive outlet to release yourself, find yourself in something positive. Hold onto it and don’t let go, and don’t be afraid to talk or ask for help.
I still don't understand. I've had depression for over 10 years and it is still something that I get confused by and frustrated with and I still don't know how to deal with it. Trying to explain it to others is nearly impossible. How can I explain my depression to someone when I'm confused by it every single day?
After tackling the beast called anxiety, I figured it's time to touch on yet another topic that I personally deal with and am highly fascinated by. (Yes, the brain is fascinating and even though I curse mine I am genuinely intrigued by its functioning—or lack thereof—ha.)