We don’t control depression, it controls us. No one awakes and things ‘today I will be glum’, at least I don’t. Every night I go to bed, hope I can sleep and pray to the universe that tomorrow will be blue skies and no grey mist, no grey stone wall stretching to the sky, no angst at feeling isolated, no fear of answering the door. I wish with all my heart that tomorrow brings a day of getting dressed, leaving my cell (bungalow) and living just a little.
I can lay here in my bed and describe how my depression and anxiety effects me, but yours may well be different, and if you are really lucky you may never have to experience it.
Depression is not feeling sad, its not just feeling a bit down, yes you often feel sad without knowing why, even crying at a pain that is bore from apathetic frustration (yes I realise that a contradiction, but so is depression).
The knowledge that the despair you really feel is often completely invisible to others. The fear that only you realise how close you constantly are to finding a permanent way out. For me only parenthood has prevented this option, thus far.
The acceptance that in reality your life, existence seems to count for little. The tears welling up when all you want to do is appear strong and ‘normal’ (if there is such a thing) to others.
Even a critical look or comment being enough to allow panic to overwhelm you.
Your vision becoming a mask of sepia, a landscape of morbid grey, brown and nicotine yellow. Dark shadows coming to represent the people around you.
My depression halts me, it is a wall that prevents any thought of escape. Any path to a brighter future seems blocked with impenetrable bracken.
Effort is insurmountable. Apathy takes over all, and movement becomes an effort. The outside world fails to exist.
Then i tread water, desperate to seek a method to escape but knowing I cannot, will not make the effort. Time stops, becomes as irrelevant as I now feel.
If I can be bothered to focus my eyes, then all I see is a clutter I have no desire to engage with.
I may sooner or later awake from the limbo, but even when things seem brighter I am still aware, still know some catalyst or other can at any moment sweep the greenery and light away, for me to hurtle back into that canyon. Not of horror, for horror takes emotion, of nothingness, of no joy, no happiness, no hope, just loneliness and despondency.
This is a description of my depressive hell, but I am sure there are others, and that for some they are far worse.
I do escape mine regularly. Others don’t come back to tell of theirs