The scratch of a single pen on paper was the only audible noise in the cold, dimly lit room, save for my slow and shallow breaths. As I completed the poem and read it through once more, I discovered how beautifully sad it was. The black ink seemed cry out in pain and despair. Though, that had not been my intention; my intention has always been to be happy. At the very moment I stared at the sorrowful words scrawled across the page, it became clear to me what was true. The suffocating and relentless sadness that silently engulfed me every day could not remain quiet any longer. I finally gave into what I had feared the most; I was depressed.
Eating can be many things. It can be for the pleasure of taste, a way of escapism, or to fuel our bodies. Fueling our bodies is the main purpose for food, however we often do not think of it that way. We think of eating to feel good with, often with calorie dense low nutritional valued ‘comfort foods’ that leave us feeling unsatisfied.
My depression tells me not to look at myself in the mirror. That I won't like what I find there. It's better not to look up. It tells me to just brush my teeth and turn around, to get on with my day and not even bother.
I’ve lived with my anxiety and depressive disorder for just over a year now and I still feel like I can’t come to terms with it. I struggle to do the simplest of tasks and, although medication and other methods do help, some days it’s just impossible.