Depression is a prison of the mind, especially when everyone around you who has never personally experienced depression doesn’t understand how, why and what goes through your head. It’s one of the most understood mental illnesses. Depression isn’t a bad or sad day. It’s having a good day, possibly even one of the best days of your life, but still crying your eyes out for a reason or maybe for no reason.
It’s telling someone you’re depressed and when they try to help, you won’t accept it, because part of your mental illness enjoys being this way. You don’t want help, because help means you’re not going to be yourself. It’s refusing to take your prescriptions because it changes how you feel, and makes you feel like a different person.
You start to question, is this what ‘normal’ feels like? Why do I have to be normal? Why is being myself wrong? Why do people want to change me? And why can’t you just change yourself? Why are you so.. fucked up? But those questions can’t be answered because nobody CAN answer them. Not with an answer you’ll accept.
It’s looking down with your hair covering your face because you feel safer this way, you’re hidden from the world and your pain and sorrow is cloaked from unwanted eyes, unwanted pitiful stares. You don’t want to see people looking at you with their ignorant, judgemental and pity-filled eyes. Who wants that?
Depression is finally having a good week, or a good month, and starting to question if you finally made it through the veil of darkness into the light, then being sucked right back in as soon as the thought comes. It’s trying to tell other people with depression how good it is once you get past it, but not believing a thing you say.
It’s when people say things like “Why are you depressed? Your life is great” or “Be happy, it could be worse”. Like, great, belittle my problems some more. Replace depression with athsma and say “What do you mean you have athsma, there’s plenty of air in here” and realize how stupid you sound. Please.
Depression is that nagging suicidal thought in the back of your head telling you you’re sick of being crazy and fucked up, why can’t you just die? Some people listen to the thought, others try to, and others try not to. Either way, it won’t go away. And you start pushing people away, because what if you DO listen to that thought?
Or rather, what if they just get sick of you? It’s either you disassociate from them, or you get heartbroken when they finally give up on you. You end up alone.
The depression gets worse. You lose interest in things you once enjoyed. After a while, you decide to try to be normal. You open up, but leave out things that people would put you in a psych ward for. You pretend you’re okay. That’s what you have to do in this world. But you can’t help but continue losing interest. You start projects to never finish them. You disassociate from reality more often than not. You ignore people.
Some even disassociate from their parents, childrens and loved ones. Then the full weight of realizing you’re a prisoner to your mind and trapped in reality comes crashing onto your head. You can get in trouble for neglecting your loved ones, you can do everything for your loved ones and begin to neglect yourself, or you can run away from the responsibility in any form.
You’re trapped, and everybody is against you. People who don’t understand begin to fear you, and fear your mistakes will end up being their problems. They predict your future, unknowingly assuming you’re unfixable. You’re a broken toy and not even glue will fix you. And once you find out how they feel and think about you, you sink deeper.
You’re in a 20 foot deep hole. Everyone offered a 10 foot ladder down to you, but you couldn’t reach. They try harder and offer a 20 foot rope. It’s long enough, but as you try to grab it, a shadow monster cuts off your arms and drags you underground. But they don’t see it. They’re blind. It’s all in your head. Either way, you can’t grab it.
They begin to assume it’s your fault. You just aren’t strong enough, not willed enough. They stop helping. The hole is your head. The monster is the depression. You have will. You have strength. But you’re being consumed.
It’s a very real feeling and monster to you. It handicaps you. It disables the ‘normal’. But to everyone else without a monster in their head, they only see you. They can try to imagine the monster you talk about, they can attempt to sympathize. But they can’t empathize. They can’t fix you. They pity you.
As unalone as you are, you’re alone in your own head. The monster wraps steel around your mind and you begin to suffocate. But you can’t die. The monster decides if and when you receive mercy. Not you.
Bhanu PS (psbhanu) is professionally a software engineer and loves helping people plan, develop, and launch applications.
He has spent the majority of his career in the application development industry, gaining experiences in areas such as web, network, mobile and game application development.
While managing and developing applications is his primary job function by day, psbhanu also love to write poems, blogs, tutorials, research and articles.
He also enjoys spending time with his family and loved ones.