Depression: Or at least my version of it

Depression is slow. Consuming. And at first you don’t even realize. You had always been depressed. And why? You still can’t pin the reason. Was it the years of your unresolved childhood trauma? It couldn’t be. You barely remember any of it. Heartbreak then? But you’ve never been heartbroken. Then what exactly could it have been? You were never taught about it. You were never informed about this Illness that eats you without you even knowing. Depression is a ticking time bomb that grows louder with every tick. And it’s ironic. Because depression is also a haunting presence that creeps into your mind and kills you silently. When you first learned or heard rather about depression it was from a movie. And when you asked about it. Nobody told you. They said it didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. It was a foreign thing. It only happened to people of the Western world borne out of their desire to turn everything into an illness. They said you couldn’t be depressed. Depression wasn’t a real thing. You laughed everyday didn’t you. You had friends. You still found things funny. They twisted it till you were in denial. You believed. You did have friends. And you laughed with them. Talked with them. Walked with them. You laughed with people you just met. People you barely knew. It couldn’t be. So you accepted. But what else could explain the silence. The crippling sadness. The withdrawal. The constant thoughts of death as your last resort when things became too overwhelming. The tears. You were careful about tears. You cried when no one was there. And if they were you’d stifle your sobs and make them so soft they wouldn’t hear. You weren’t ready to explain yourself. Not because you didn’t want help. But because even you didn’t know what the problem was. You tears were so frequent this year. Different from the other years. You cried day after day. Week after week. Until time blurred and it became a routine. You were slowly starting to loose yourself. So you’d kept track. You’d gotten close to 50 days when it stopped. You were back to normal. Like it never happened. You no longer thought about things for so long. You were no longer sad. You no longer cried. So what happened. If it wasn’t depression then what was it? You don’t have an answer. But you weren’t going to back down. You weren’t going to lose yourself again.

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