Depression is like being in an abusive relationship where the perpetrator, the controller you can’t quit, lives in your head. He can’t seem to leave you alone; He throws punches and takes shots coldly as you barrel along a dirt road that exists only in your mind’s psyche, holding onto the bumper that is the outside world. Your skin tears and bruises along the way, creating scars that would never fade.
You hear him yelling at you, telling you that you aren’t good enough, you aren’t worth the space you take, you aren’t useful. The air you breathe is wasted on you. You have no real place in the world. Everything you do is awful. Believing you can be good at something is deluded narcissism.
Your art is a mess of mediocrity.
You are a shell of a person. It isn’t simply sadness. There aren’t constant seas of tears falling from vacant eyes. You are empty inside. The hole in the pit of your stomach is hollow. You lay in bed, not seeking sleep, but not wanting to move because you know that this day will be no better than those that came before.
And when you aren’t laying there, staring pathetically at the ceiling, you’re filling your time with anything that will distract you. You don’t seek out people; just mindless activities that block out the emptiness. You spend hours watching television, playing games, or reading fantastic tales and living inside them. It was, after all, Mark Twain who said that books are for people who wish they were somewhere else.
And sometimes you want to pretend to be someone else, too. Just for a little while. Just for a little while, this isn’t your reality. That life is behind closed doors and you aren’t controlled by it, anymore.
But it never lasts.
You have to put the book down, turn off the television, put the phone away, eventually. You’re suddenly alone with him, again. He reminds you of all the terrible things you did. He brings back events and thoughts that should have been too far in the past for you to remember. He berates you for them. He tells you that you’re stupid, and that other people can see how idiotic and terrible you are. He controls your breathing. He controls your thought process. He controls your interpretation of the person in your mirror.
And you know, no matter how hopeful you become or comforted you superficially feel, he will never let you go.
Depression is when everything in the world is exactly as it should be, but everything hurts, anyway. It is a painful reality that forces you to hold a facade of peace, because people will change their perception of you if break the silence.
And nobody wants that.