An Open Letter to My Depression

Dear Depression,

I remember the day I met you—I remember how you felt like my friend. You told me, “This is fine, this is okay, lay down your sleepy head—the world does not matter. You are safe. Just stay with me.” I did stay with you, I stayed with you for a long time, you were my friend. At first, I didn’t mind you. I didn’t mind you because I didn’t find there was anything wrong with sleeping fourteen hours a day. I didn’t think it was a problem that I wasn’t eating—after all, I was kind of fat anyways. That’s what you would tell me. It was okay that I didn’t talk to my family because we weren’t close anyways. That’s what you said. I was okay with your presence because I didn’t know you were there.

When I learned about you for the first time, who you are, what you did—at the time I think I still didn’t mind having you around even though I knew it wasn’t a normal part of life. I was told, “It doesn’t have to be this way, you don’t have to feel this way, there is help.” I didn’t want the help because I was okay with you. At the time, the only thing you did to me was made me tired. There wasn’t a real problem. That’s what you told me. I believed you because I felt okay. I liked to sleep anyways.

The first time you changed your tactics, you told me I would be better off if I just killed myself. That death was easier. You turned my tiredness into a kind of sadness I had never known. It wasn’t like losing my favorite uncle, or my favorite Netflix series coming to an end. This sadness left me feeling like a shell of a person, empty—day after day. I lost the desire to live, and I could constantly hear you whispering in my ear, “maybe you should just die…it would make everyone happier, you not being around. You really are a burden.” I’d never thought about killing myself before then, but the idea of it intrigued me for a long time. I didn’t know that you could physically feel sadness. But the ache in my chest taught me that it was possible. Breathing became hard sometimes, I would lay in bed with you Depression, and I would tell myself that maybe there really wasn’t any reason I should be alive. My chest ached from the sadness, while you enveloped me in your arms. I knew then that you weren’t good, but God, you were comfortable. You were safe, you were unchanging and we were very close. Even when you sat quietly in the corner of my mind, I was still scared to let you go because you made me forget what it felt like to feel anything but you. I was afraid to let myself be happy without you because it was easy to come home to you. It was easy to lay down with you and let you tell me, “Your life doesn’t matter. Your friends don’t like you. He doesn’t love you. You’re stupid, you’re overweight and you will never amount to anything.” And it was easy to believe every lie you told me. How does a person find comfort in feeling like their life is completely worthless?

Today, I’m writing to you because Sam told me to. At first I thought it was a kind of ridiculous way to understand the way you feel, but then I gave it some thought and realized I have a lot to say to you. Over the years, from the time I first met you, you’ve gotten meaner, you attacked me where I’m weakest and you kicked me while I was already down. You became ruthless, and somehow I still feel safe with you around. You’ve been around a lot lately, and for the most part I’ve been able to keep you in the corner and pretend not to notice you, but I realized something today. You snuck up on me again, in a way I’d long since forgotten of. I’m used to you telling me your usual lies, but I’d forgotten how tired you can make me. I’d forgotten what it felt like to not really be sad about anything, but to still feel empty and have no desire to exist. I think this is the worst side of you. I have people who can tell me my life is worth living, that they love me, that I have something to offer the world. But they can’t tell me to stop being tired. They can’t tell me to stop feeling so unmotivated. So I stay awake at night, with you laying in bed next to me while I stare at the ceiling, unable to see any of the good in my life, even though I’m completely surrounded by it.

This letter really has no resolution because I know you’ll live with me my entire life, but I’m hoping that me being aware of what you do, what you’re capable of—it’ll help me to see that the way I feel is because of you. I’m sad and tired and empty because of you. You may be comfortable but you are no place to stay. I wish I’d never met you.

– Sincerely, J