Depression

Children fear fictitious monsters that dwell under beds or what may dwell in the closest, obvious byproduct of an overzealous imagination. Some adults still fear what may lurk in the dark but for me, depression is the most horrifying demon of them all.

Depression would stalk me like an anathemic shadow with covetous eyes, deeply obsessed with something precious that doesn’t belong to it. Cold chills would run down my spine and the hairs on my arm would stand at attention as if some unseen entity were unwantedly caressing me softly with frigid hands. I’d turn to find nothing but my immediate environment but little did I know I was being haunted by an imperceptible nemesis. When it took residence within me and made it’s presence known, it dug deep and cemented its roots into my soul and ensnared my heart with it’s thorny tendrils that squeezed tightly letting me that is is very much a physical ordeal. I knew it had come to possess me the first time I had shed uncontrollable tears of anguish over a litany of constant disappointments.

It tortures me with my own memories, reminding me of questionable decisions i've made and my past failures all the while injecting me with a never ending supply of regret. Sometimes, it even galvanizes me with hope by feeding me a glimpse of an agreeable future free of bondage from it but hope can be a cruel tactic Depression uses to remind me that I belong to it, mind and soul.

When it comes on strong, I feel my resolve fade away like a sand castle meeting a tidal wave that stands very little chance of standing tall in the aftermath. It takes hold of me with it’s grotesque hands pulling me into it’s claustrophobic realm of despair, robbing me of my sense of worth, siphoning every last ounce of pride before retreating to the crevices within the depths of my soul with the remnants of my confidence, leaving me a shadow of my former self, evident when I look in the mirror and all I see is a revenant staring back at me with a hundred yard stare.

Every day is a constant war of attrition with my sense of self because some days I don’t even know who I am anymore. I go from Manic-Depressive-Mondays to I-Hate-Myself-Terribly-Tuesdays all the way to Sucked-a-Big-Box-of-Salty-Dicks-Sundays ---  my mood is entirely dependent if Depression wants to wake up in the morning to vampircally feed on my emotions. Normal days feel like paid vacations, in the sense that they are good while they last despite the fact they pass as fast a New York minute. I desperately try to cling on to how I feel on a normal day as if I were clutching a life preserve in a temperamental sea of misery but more often than not, feeling normal just becomes a distant memory as I sojourn the long desolate road of destitution searching for the next day of reprieve from my unwanted guest.

Every day, even the most minute things can be difficult. The fruits that life has to offer tastes like over ripened apples that crumble in my mouth, leaving a bitter after taste. Moving through my day feels like im wearing a weighted coat of armor on a hot summer day in Georgia, each step I take is more laborious then the last as I struggle to find my place in society. Every day is Halloween for me, I get up every morning and I put on a happy face so other people can feel comfortable, despite me crying on the inside.  I’ve gotten better at it with practice, in comparison, im employing the same concentration a violinist uses to play Concerto in D Major on a violin. I usually prefer wear my misery on my face, which is easier – but people make me feel worse when they ask me what’s wrong as if they have the answer to my problems. What’s worse is when they gave you a blank stare and retort with antiquated statements such as ‘just be happy’ – or ‘you’ll be fine’ or my personal favorite, ‘just get over it’ – as if it was that fucking easy. Sometimes I wonder why people feel like I gave up my right to be left alone just because I set foot in public. So I continue to smile like the legendary fool – Pagliacci, Italian Prince of Clowns, who lived to make those around him happier while he died a little everyday on the inside.

I’ve found that envy of all things is synonymous with depression because I feel it’s vicious sting whenever I interact with people who appear to be genuinely happy. Its even worse when I see groups of happy people being happy together which begs the antediluvian question ‘how the fuck do they do that?’ because all I ever get is more anxiety when im around too many people for too long. I don’t do social media because it seems like a constant stream of people advertising how great their life is, inadvertently reminding me how great my life is not.

Drugs help but inebriation is only a temporary solution that leaves me feeling worse when the final moments of haze gives way to sobriety. Sex and the ecstasy it brings helps as well to restore some confidence but like drugs, the high is fleeting and dissipates faster than a candle dancing in the wind. Ive tried loving other people hoping that the gift of love being returned would somehow make me love myself more if I understood why people loved me but it doesn’t take the jealous nature of Depression long to rear itself and fuck up my relationships as well.

I’ve tried prayer, begging whichever existential conscious who actually gives a damn, for absolution or deliverance from this terrible affliction. But the only one who answered was Depression, whispering to me that ‘God isn’t listening but baby I am, and I will never be too far away’ reminding me that Depression is very much real . Sometimes, it even whispers that there is even a possibility that God probably even hates me.  Which makes me wonder, if humanity is God’s finest creation, then God must definitely be a sadist if God felt the need to put melancholic feelings in our hearts.

Depression has more in common with a successful virus then most people realize. It has the capacity to kill you but like a virus, it doesn’t destroy it’s host environment until it successfully infects someone else first. It spreads to everyone around you and may kill off some but it will leave a small percentage alive to keep its war on humanity going.

So I continue to endure life and all of it’s needless complexities, traveling down the road of misery with Depression while I write my requiem for better days.