My Depression – Part 2


This is a continuation on my previous depression post.

The memories from year 8 to 9 are very faded. It’s difficult to remember things when your days diverge on a singular timetable: Moping in my bed till 12, eating a tiny breakfast and then amusing myself on my phone or on good days read a book. The only true relief I ever got was through my eldest brother and my online friends. I think my brother knew but chose not to bring it to the surface. He was the only real face to face interaction that I had. It truly kept me sane. I don’t want to go on and on about how bad it was, if you’ve never experienced depression before just think about a terrible day in recent memory were you woke up senile and distraught. You don’t know why you felt bad – you just did – now repeat it for days on end, that’s what it felt like.

Sometimes now I wish that this had never happened, but not as much as I did back then. The wishing ached through my existence. I could see the skyline, I yearned for my previous self but I slipped whenever I tried to climb through the walls of my roofless prison. Soon I began to realise that I could not climb alone. I needed help.

My first glimmer of hope came in July, a phone call from my brother. He asked me how I was doing, I lied, but then he asked whether I thought living with him would help me. That’s not exactly how he asked, it’s still blurry but that was the gist of it. I remember feeling hopeful for the first time in a long long time… I know this is probably confusing but my relationship with my parents was terrible at the time. Anger filled every one of us daily, it was toxic. I’d prefer not to go into it at the moment.

And so I moved homes. Things improved for a while but eventually I fell again. It was like strolling through a desert, for a while the sandstorms ceased and I could see the horizon, the happiness. Everything became clear for a brief time, but inevitably the sandstorms came again, just that bit weaker this time but still as unrelenting. I know I use analogies a lot, and most of them are terrible, I know. 😀

My sister in-law was also a great help. We grew very close, much more than anyone expected (especially my parents), myself included. I know my parents love me in their own way, but it’s hard to stay smiling through their ignorance. My sister in-law was never treated with benevolence, and the love you’d expect, but that’s sadly how my parents were, but I’m still grateful that they cared for and about me.

I asked my sister in-law recently what it felt like when I constantly skipped out on school due to my depression. She said it was devastatingly frustrating. I didn’t need to ask her to elaborate I understand that feeling now. My parents went through it to. That never ending roller coaster of hope and disappointment. They wanted to help me so badly, but again I lied and cheated, that was how I operated.

But they were damn patient. We hardly ever expressed our anger at each other. I remember a moment where I told my brother that I couldn’t live with him, I never told him why I said this but it was because I couldn’t stand lying to him every day. I couldn’t stand the love that they had placed on my shoulders only for me to shrug it off. I couldn’t stand knowing all the pain I had caused and was causing, daily, weekly.

But my sister and my brother did not falter.  They told me that they understood what I was going through, and that we’d get through it together. Thank you Guys.

Photo credit: Helga Weber / Foter / CC BY-ND


On My Depression…’d like to discuss a brief part of my flimsy teenage years (so far). This is because of recent events that have brought back my last few years to the surface for me to evaluate and reflect upon (namely swapping schools). I believe proper reflection on past events helps us learn from the multitudes of mistakes that we have and will make in our lives. Almost everyone has probably heard the quote “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” – Thomas Edison. Though I personally do not live my life based on this quote there are various profound meanings behind his historical words. My personal experience has shown me that mistakes fill up my life, and through personal reflection – in this case writing – I can try and learn from my past failures and grow as a person.

In year 8 and 9 I experienced a wave of depression. It came quick and silently in the night, and lingered with me day by day, like some sick imaginary fiend. It shadowed my every step and clung to me, slowly dragging me down with its ragged breath and silent looks. It whispered into my ear dark dark things: You’re so ugly, it said, why do you keep trying? Slowly bit by bit I succumbed to its intimate words; it wrapped around me and inserted itself into my personality. I was lost for two years.

Over the course of year 8 and 9, I missed every second day, and on the days that I did come to class, I would leave early or arrive very late. My social life was filled with fragments of concerned faces and the common question: Are you okay? On the days I was at school I remember the concern being the highlight of every single conversation, and I very much wish that it wasn’t. It was like a constant reminder of my demon, no longer could I have a coherent conversation without it swimming towards the topic of me, Why wasn’t I going to school? They asked, I had no answer. I thought that I was all alone, that no one could understand my pain. They all wanted to know why; I realise now that it was only because they cared but at the time it felt like a solemn ache or a replaying track, it went on and on in its mono-tonal voice. I pleaded for it to stop, but how could it? How could they understand what I was going through if I never spoke, and when I did it was all lies, strained little “I’m okay’s” that ironically did nothing to ease there creased faces. Lying only drew me in deeper…

I crept into my shell and made my home there. It still has walls of suicidal wallpapers and dark red paint; though not so much as an assurance that I always had someplace to go but rather as a way to remember, this happened, this happened.

I remember feeling like someone with insomnia. Every moment I was not truly awake rather in a trance like state, attempting to numb myself so I would not have to feel the pain. But it did not work. Emotions became saturated on the darker end: Anger, Frustration, and Hatred; it filled my being; it touched the people I love now. I am very sad to admit that I did not love them at the time, but how could I love when it was torture just to live?

We travelled through these grim roads together. Side by side with the people that loved me unconditionally. They felt it, but could not understand. But how could they? The lies that slipped from my tongue, the crying promises that I made to them. “I’ll go to school” I said, and for a few days I did, but I always slipped again.

This roller coaster of hope then defeat left my loved ones drained (especially my parents.) It is a hallmark to the people I love that they kept believing in me, even when I fell more times than I got up.

Thanks for reading so far. I’m near crying right now so I have to stop.