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Depression is War

Battling Against Myself Everyday

By Michelle WallacePublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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In the Trenches

There’s a proliferation of articles and personal stories about depression from other warriors in this unseen battle of the mind. Some describe their battles with suicide while others offer up details on walking through this war torn existence and claim to have found peace. I applaud those who’ve found peace and hope one day to join your ranks. In the meantime, my battle rages on.

There’s still smoke hanging in the air from a myriad of battles fought since the very second I woke up this morning and a din of voices screaming in my head. One voice in particular wants to be sure I know exactly what a piece of shit I am and always will be. The litany of hate-filled thoughts running unchecked in my head might be comparable to being bombarded with the same pop song over and over at ear piercing decibels non-stop for days, weeks, or months. Enough to drive even the most sane person out of their mind.

I’m steeling myself against the next wave. Reloading my weapons and securing what’s left of my mental armor. A bright light fills my awareness emanating from a TV screen positioned across the room. I numbly browse through a disjointed list of viewing options in my Netflix cue. Fuck! I’ve seen it all at least once. Whatever... I just need to pick something that doesn’t make me want to cry or think too much. It’s an escape hatch not an entertainment option for fuck sake. Shaolin starts playing and I’m able to throw myself into another world for a brief respite from the battle.

Meanwhile, dishes are piled high, trash is overflowing, I haven’t showered in three days, and my project work is behind nearly two weeks. There’s a tiny voice nagging in the back of my mind. “Get up damn it! There’s shit to do. You don’t want to be homeless do you? If you don’t get some work done soon you will be.” This voice and the previous voice join forces to remind me what a loser I am for not even being able to get in the shower when I so clearly need to.

I sit forward on the edge of my seat and struggle to find the motivation to at least shower. Tick tock, tick tock, shit I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes now. Exhaustion washes over me for the 10th time today, I think, “Screw it, haven’t showered in days. What’s a few more hours?” and I lay back down to stare at a movie I’ve seen more than 20 times. It’s safe here, for the time being. I watch, nodding off occasionally for brief moments of sleep. My favorite place where everything is silence.

Another movie I don’t recall picking ends and the clock reminds me the entire day has been spent. The voices start in again as I shuffle into the kitchen for some cold water. The most dangerous voice of all slips into my internal dialog. She’s soft and kind and seems to really care about how much pain I’m feeling. “Aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t it be easier to just check out? Why keep living when it hurts like this all the time? You and the world will be better off.” I consider this suggestion long enough to run a few scenarios on how to just check out. There’s only one I’d really consider, because I’ve done it before. Just need the resources to make it happen...

OK that happened for the sixth time today, including as soon as I woke up this morning. So yeah, it’s a war and I’m in the damn trenches fighting battle after battle everyday all day long. I know there are fellow warriors out there struggling like I do or worse. But the nature of this war is pure isolation. Only my fellow warriors understand, but none of us will talk about it because our words fall on deaf or unsympathetic ears. Why invite more pain by being dismissed or treated with disdain?

What’s even worse is asking for help runs the exact same gambit as trying to talk about it with any other non-warrior. It’s become clear to me that unless you’ve been in these trenches you simply can’t grasp the experience. With that lack of understanding comes prejudice, poor advise, and terrible medications that often make things even worse. It’s all I can do to survive this war everyday on my own. Please don’t judge me. Please don’t offer me advice on how to navigate a mine field you don’t have to walk through with me. And please stop throwing pills at me. All they do is dig my trenches deeper.

depression
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About the Creator

Michelle Wallace

Battle hardened mind warrior on the front lines of the bottomless black chasm of depression. One day the darkness may win but until then I have a few things to say.

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