No one likes depression, at first. You hate it, and try to fight it away by smiling, always. I refused to acknowledge I was even depressed, because how could I be depressed? Wasn’t I always happy? People always said I was. Maybe it was just the bloody hormones. Eventually depression became a drug, I knew it was there and I couldn’t fight it…because I wasn’t exactly sure what I was fighting…what exactly did I want gone?
Depression is so many things…a glass box that you’re trapped in, always looking out, but never seen nor heard, or it’s described as a cloud, maybe a sickness…all analogies work. Your mind becomes a tempest, and you can’t see or imagine anything else than the thundering thoughts and the inner downpour. Then like most storms it’ll cycle out, and if this is your first time you feel great again after a week or two maybe (not at all precise), then it comes back, with a new vigor. It beats down on you until you can’t hold your own anymore and slowly you start to weather away. The smile is usually the first to go, then the light behind your eyes, then your whole way of carrying yourself. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and just let go. I can’t say how many times I’ve tried that…flowing with the crowd in the hallways (no longer fighting my way through) and I’ll just close my eyes. Try to let go. Die right there. You just keep falling.
Then it’s pass. Just like that. You wake up and, “what cloud?” Well this is your second time this has happened…and this time you don’t know what to think. You’re still stuck on “I’m (not) okay.” This time you’re really not sure…because you don’t feel that hopeless feeling, and you’re not sure if you’re quite numb, “is this normal?” Eventually the cloud you’ve wished gone, you want back, because at least that was a feeling you could comprehend. Does it ever end?