Depression

Living with depression is hard to portray to someone who is lucky enough to not suffer from this mental illness, or any kind of mental illness. I like to think of myself as a good writer but even now I am struggling to find the words to give even the slightest insight. On the worst of days, living with depression is not living. Mental illness is something widely and commonly misunderstood. Of course, mental illness differs and there are various types of it, all of which are life altering, but I will focus on depression as it is the most common and something from which I suffer myself. The idea that something inside my head is not right, not only terrifies me, but deeply saddens me. I often think: why me? What is it about my head and my brain that is different from that of a normal happy person? Well, I think that I know the cause. I believe the root of my depression stems from losing my dad when I was age 15, but there are many other factors. Some people have no specific cause or trauma that triggers it, it just happens. Either way, I have to live with it. And so do many others. To think that a chemical imbalance in my brain has had such an impact in my life, more so than real people and real interactions. It is all in my head and I always think to myself ‘why can’t you just be ok.' There is so much in my life I have to be grateful for, but it’s almost as if it is just out of my reach. It is as if I am looking at my own life through a glass screen. I’m not in control. Sometimes it is easier to stay in bed. There is a sort of safety about that, something I can’t explain.

Every day starts the same. The sun rises, but not always do I. Some days, most days, I lay there thirsty and still tired. I look around my room, it is always dark, but I never open the curtains. I haven’t moved yet, but I start to think about all the ways I am disappointed in myself and though I don’t want to, I cannot stop. I am pushing myself down before I have even started the day. I think about how I have never known an aching like this just as I have maybe never really known happiness. Or if I have, then I have forgotten. It is such a dull ache that lives within me. I will look at my watch and I will sigh. It is the same deep sigh that I repeat every morning, or afternoon, that my body decides to wake me. Depression is the dark dog that sits at the end of my bed. Depression is real. Mental illness is real. Open your eyes, it IS a thing. People need to be more aware.

If I am to get up at all today, something to which I see no point in doing, then I am surely to suffer. I will suffer in the same way that I do day in and day out. And my thoughts will be mostly of that and any good thoughts that make their way to me will be quickly corrupted. It will hang over me like a bad cloud and it will cut me down whenever I reach anything above this heartache. I never thought I would feel anything quite this powerful, the depth of human emotion is far more than anyone will ever fully know. But then some days, I am unable to feel anything and I can’t decide in my own head if that Is better or worse and It worries me that darker and more difficult days are placed in my future, waiting for me.

If I get out of bed today then that is as far as I will get. I might not even shower. Or if I do then I will take longer than necessary and I will close my eyes and allow myself to be comforted by the warmth of the water. It is a substitute for all the things I lack in real life, for real life is so cold and harsh.

Some days I will not even get dressed. I will stay in bed and I will cry and I will cry so much that I tire myself out and go back to sleep. Only to wake up feeling worse. My life is an accumulation of ‘depression naps.' The condition of my mental health has hindered me so much in my life. I remember a time when I had so much ambition and there was so much that I wanted to do. It is so sad to think that I have achieved none of it. In the last three years I couldn’t tell you a single thing that I have achieved. All of my interests seemed to have passed me by. My life has slowed down. And I’m angry. I know I have potential, I know that I am capable but it is like I have hit a wall. I cannot unlock what is in my own mind. Everything has been taken over and it is rare I find joy in anything anymore. If you tell me something good and I promise you I will find a way to put a negative twist on it, tell me something bad and I promise you I will blow it out of proportion.

Sometimes I hurt myself. Sometimes I hurt myself so much that for a few of the following days I cannot bare to look at myself. It’s embarrassing and it is shameful to me. It doesn’t make me brave and it doesn’t make me better. I am not beautiful, I am ill. Mental instability is not the beautiful and tragic movie that it is put across to be. It is painful and it is ugly. It is bloody and it is messy. It is alcohol and drugs to pass the time and it is smoking cigarettes extra hard for any relief. The scars on my skin do not paint any other picture than that of ‘I need help.'

My physical health has also suffered. I am reluctant to take care of myself. I do all the things I know I should not and I exempt any suggestions made by others on how to better myself. “Drink less,” “Eat properly,” “Open the curtains,” “Go outside…" “How about I just take a nap instead,” is my reply or maybe the classic “I will tomorrow.”

When I go to sleep, I pray that I will wake up to a good day. Because I live for them. And I want to live, or at least I want to want to live. I want to be above this and I want to be able to feel all of the things that I am alive to feel. Surely, I cannot be alive just for this.

I want to be able to love someone and not have worries of them leaving. But I know that is unrealistic, because the truth is that it is hard. The whole thing is often romanticised; it is shown in films and TV shows that love is the answer and that having a lover will somehow make a miraculous difference and no longer shall you be sad. If you’re lucky then maybe, just maybe, someone will come along and they will stay and they will love you and it will help, but let us be honest; how often does that happen? People lose their patience, people get bored and annoyed and they take the things you do, or don’t do, personally. I am incredibly lonely in this way, every relationship I have had has fallen apart somewhere along the line because of the way I am. I want to be loved, but I do not know how to let myself be loved. I push people away and I can be really mean and ignorant. It is easier for me to be alone.

That is the sad truth. And to anyone who has read this and can relate, in any way, I am sorry. I hope that you are handling it better.