Or wait. Maybe it's like being thrown into a pool. Everything is fine, la dee da dee da, and BAM! You're in the water floundering around and everyone is laughing. How am I doing here?
I'm talking about this constant and yet still occasional and fleeting but never-ending anguish that is Major Depressive Disorder. Aaaaaand most of you, if not all, have no idea what it's like to be that person. That sad-for-absolutely-no-reason person. Lucky bastards.
Sometimes everything is fine. You're medicated to the gills, what the hell could possibly be making you sad? How can you be sad when you have so much to be happy about? Kiss your baby, everything will be fine. But no. You're sad. It has nothing to do with your baby, your family, all the love in your life and the love in your heart. Usually, it happens while you're waiting to fall asleep. You've finally managed to quiet your mind and then it washes over you, soaking every inch of you. Anguish.
Pure, unadulterated anguish. And why? That's what a chronically depressed person will never be able to answer. Why. There is no why. It's so hard to describe but it's as if your brain is trying to kill you. There is a cancerous self-loathing growth in your brain and it is slowly trying to kill you, and every day (medicated or not) is a struggle to win this war within yourself. And as soon as you let your guard down the Trojan horse slips in and leaves you feeling naked and ugly all over.
And as fast as it comes, it leaves once more and leaves none of its evidence behind. You can carry on. You can take a shower, you have the power back! You are safe until your unwanted visitor decides to show up to steal your supper and ruin your evening. Who knows when that will happen, but for now fuck it. Everything is brilliant and I am going to take my Chanel handbag out for a walk so she can show off.
You know it will always be there. Maybe because it has always been there. At one point it never left. It curls up beside you and wraps you up in a safe place. A place of hatred and sadness. It cradles you. But it feels so terrible.
You know what? Anybody suffering through it deserves a medal. A badge of honour. Good for you for sticking with it. Not giving up. If you have this mental illness that Tom Cruise and his decipals think is total bullshit, and you manage to have a shower every day? Good. High five. I will be thinking of you, and you should think of me. Everyone needs a little support once in a while.
I write a lot about depression. But it is a part of me, for better or for worse.
Some helpful tips (suggested by the non-depressed) include but are not limited to:
- "Try yoga. Changed my life."
- "Have you read The Secret?"
- "Distract yourself! Find a new hobby!"
- "You should try a Gluten-free diet."
- "Baby weight? I have a dusty old elliptical that plugs into the wall, if you want. 300 bucks."
- "Oh I know someone who was depressed. But then she got another boyfriend and everything went back to normal."
- "Seriously, try yoga."
- "People who kill themselves are just so selfish, just so so selfish"
- "Just decide to be happy!"
If you've ever said any of that, I want you to burn yourself with a cigarette. And don't ever say any of it again.