I’m not okay.
TRIGGER Warning – I speak very candidly about my struggles with depression and anxiety – This post has been a long time coming.
Where do I even begin with this post? I’m Exhausted. I’m Sad. I’m Angry. I’m Frustrated.
And I’m not even sure why.
This is my depression; let me try to explain it to you, dear reader.
My depression is waking up every morning with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
My depression is yelling “Fuck” first thing in the morning, not because I’m late for work (which I’m likely to be) but because I woke up in the first place.
My depression is high functioning; it lets me go through the motions at my 6 – month-old job even though it stopped being interesting 3 months ago.
My depression is me zoning out; it’s my tunnel vision; it’s my sheer lack of concentration; it’s my depersonalization.
My depression is sneaky; it hunts in complete silence and grabs me from behind; it grabs hold in the middle of a party; in the shower; in an improv show; on the street.
My depression is my knees buckling in exhaustion after a long day; it’s the shaking of my hands as I try to take off my contact lenses.
My depression is the sudden tears that well up when my vision clears and I see the moon for the first time in forever; it’s the fresh stream of tears that get washed into the rain that hits my face.
My depression is the sleepless nights; the 5 hour “naps”; the familiarity of the ceiling I’ve stared at all day.
My depression is my stomach’s audible grumbling but the lack of conviction to eat; it is the nausea that follows a meal; it is the purposeful starvation because I deserve the pain.
My depression is living for the weekend, and then sleeping through it. It’s the morning palpitations, the nightly hyperventilation.
My depression is my inability to articulate; it is the distinct lack of support; it is me wanting to talk and also to push people away.
My depression is “try to think positive “; “you should exercise more!”; it is “stop taking it as an excuse”, and “think of people worse off than you!”
My depression is “what have we done wrong?”, “why are you so weak?”, and “everyone goes through bad days!”
My depression is loneliness. Shit, it’s the absolutely crushing loneliness. It’s the fear of bothering people; it’s the fear of dying alone; it’s the conviction that the world is better off without you in it.
My depression is the emotional inability to fall for anyone anymore (because what’s the point?); it is the sadness after a first kiss; it is the frustration at happy couples; it is the physical pain of not having someone to hold and it is the sinking feeling that accompanies a lonely drinking session.
My depression is in my dull eyes; it’s in my dank hair; it’s in my silence; it’s in my laughter and my scintillating conversation. It’s my lack of hope and my crushed dreams.
My depression is in my incredulity at people with normal lives and daily motivations; the claustrophobia of life; it’s in my unfinished artwork and unanswered emails; it’s in my unjustified sick leaves and my lack of phone calls. It’s in my mindless scrolling.
My depression is staring at my fragile wrists and imagining blood; it is the love for high places; it is the counting of pills; it’s being too tired to actually do it.
My depression is a part of me; I am a part of it. But I try not to let it control me. God, do I fucking try.