My story of depression

So here’s the thing. Depression is sneaky. Depression will disappear for months and trick you in to thinking its all gone away. And then it will comeback, slowly, and then all at once. And it’ll be out of nowhere.

I don’t blog often, but when I do it’s when something is affecting me and I feel the only way to comprehend that is by writing about it. And then I share it, on the off chance that someone out there feels the same and finds some comfort in this solidarity. This post isn’t glorifying depression. It isn’t making it seem beautifully tragic and it isn’t saying it’s poetic. I’m just writing about it, in its barest form.

It’s 7pm on a Monday night and I’ve just had a breakdown. I broke the plant my boyfriend bought me and began to sob. I sobbed yesterday too. I’ve sobbed for quite a few days now at the little things. I’ve felt like my life is meaningless and I’ve felt at a dead end. It’s horrible. I’ve cried so much that my chest aches when I breathe now. but it isn’t always like that.

Depression is numb, getting distracted or feeling empty. Depression is standing behind the counter at work and smiling at customers, going home and lying in bed, going over every conversation until you fall asleep.

When I was fifteen, I broke for the first time. And it lasted a long time. I lost my friends and a boyfriend and dropped out of school. I went to therapy for a while and got better. But I fear now it’s returned. It was in year 11 that I realised there was something wrong with my health. My best friend, who had always been my best friend, became so distant and looked at me differently and my boyfriend of the time told me I made him too sad to stay with me. They both left at the same time. That friend recently came back in to my life whilst she was going through a hard time, but she’s gone again now.

The thing about being depressed is that it takes over. It’s this accumulation of so many things, that build up inside you, from the pit of your stomach to your throat; when it gets to your throat it’s like you can’t breathe; you’re choking. Except you aren’t. It’s this disease that eats away at you until there’s nothing left but this hollow shell. And it affects everyone. It works in ripples and shock waves. I’m depressed and because of that my boyfriend is scared and worried and I’ve hurt him and it’s awful. My mum looks at me constantly and touches my arm, with this weak smile like she’s trying to break through, trying to see a hint of her daughter that isn’t there.

I’m scared of a lot of things, and I’ll talk about most of them openly. I don’t like spiders, or heights, I don’t like being on my own. But I think most importantly I’m scared of the uncertainty of life. And I know that’s ridiculous because everyone faces life and it is always going to be uncertain but it’s something I can’t live with. The idea that I finish my university education in a year is terrifying, the looming idea of having to get a job and just live and exist is unbearable to me, at the moment and there’s no solution, no easy fix for that. It’s coming and it is coming fast and oh my god it terrifies me.

Yesterday I had a breakdown because I didn’t want to be alive anymore. Today it was because I broke my yellow flower. Except it wasn’t about a flower.

I won’t lie when I say right now I can’t see a way out of this, but there’s this voice inside of me that tells me that I’ve beaten it once before and I’ll do it again. Just because I can’t see a way out doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to say or what points I’m trying to convey. I just know that I need to write and to write, is to write what you know. And at the moment this is what I know. I’m not the only one here that’s dealing with this. I’m not the first and I won’t be the last. But talking about it is important. It’s vital to spread awareness of depression and the symptoms in order to help others. When I was fifteen and crying on my bedroom floor, taking comfort in a razor, I didn’t know what was happening or why I felt so sad. There was something wrong with me, but I didn’t realise that. I do now.

It doesn’t seem like it currently, but I’ve got to believe things will get better. There’s this life ahead of me that I’ve got to try and focus on, because a part of me knows I’ll be able to do it. And that part, no matter how small is fighting, and I hope, I pray it’ll win.

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