Some of the days that I wake up, I know what I am stressed about, I know what I am sad about or what is making me unhappy or happy even. Other days I just exist. The things that used to stir loads of emotions either of pain or excitement just happen and I am still there, Unmoved by them. As if they passed right through me; making me feel transparent and much more insignificant. On much worse days, a single word would throw me off the edge that I so often struggle to hang on to and the tears would not stop falling. Making me think about everything bad that I could possibly think of and somehow giving birth to more horrific and sad thoughts where I thought none were possible.
These are the times when everything plagues me. From my purpose in life to why couldn’t I have just not wasted that little food in the mess when it was clearly too awful to be eaten. Times when even my mere breathing feels like a burden on the universe and I really don’t know where to go from there. It feels like a rock bottom but there is no way up. I just have to curl up in my blanket, hope my cries don’t wake up anyone and wait that the exhaustion from crying would eventually carry me to that blissful state of not being aware of my existence that everyone has so simply named sleep.
The worse part about my depression is not that it consumes me. The worst part is when my depression reminds me so painstakingly that my troubles are nothing compared to what other people have. Their problems are so real and so big that mine have to be insignificant in comparison. My depression is so clever as to remind me that it is all in my head and I could be doing something so much more productive with my time and not disappoint literally everyone I know. It’s the cleverness of my depression that makes it worst. It shows me how my act of being depressed is such a waste and yet whilst doing so somehow cunningly
holds me clutches me harder than before.
My depression is nothing if not ironic. It will tell me push all of the people I know for a crapload of reasons which would make sense at the time. It will tell me to be rude, be hateful and be downright unreasonable to push everyone away and later it will make me question why didn’t they try harder? It will make me question why would I do such a thing in the first place. It makes me question if I have reduced such a shell of a person that I can’t even tell what’s in my head and what’s real life anymore and how one affects the other.
(Notice how I say My depression, as if it’s a proud possession or a part of me. Seems funny yet sad. Seems to have a true ring to it too.)
My depression makes me hate myself harder than anyone could. It makes me believe that no one can love me more than they can hate me because there is nothing worthy of loving or liking even. And the worst part is the lines have become so blurry that I don’t know if it’s my depression or just who I am as a person now that’s doing all this.