Down in a hole

Depression – the affliction of the masses, of modern day (if some of the media is to be believed). We’re told of the pets that take Prozac, the GPs that dole it out like sweeties and the disaffected youth that have begun to rely on that fact. In amongst the headlines it can be easy to distance yourself from the true reality of depression. So, if you have the time or the inclination, I’d like to let you into mine.

My brain feels like it’s full of cake mix – all gloopy and thick. My thoughts are so sluggish that I can’t quite follow any logical line of thinking – it takes too much effort to push them though the gloop. I’m sitting on the side of my bed. I’ve been here for while. Just sitting. Trying to think. I’m not sure how much time passes, in truth I really don’t care. I’ve been fighting the brain drain for too long and it’s getting too much for me. I’m exhausted. With only a small prickly conscience reminding me of what I’m meant to be doing today, I lie back down on the bed and hug my duvet. I close my eyes and withdraw into myself. I’m not asleep, but I’m not fighting it anymore.

It’s late in the evening. I’m sitting on the stairs, huddled together as tight as I can (trying to fade into nothingness). I can hear voices downstairs, I’m tempted to go and join them but I just feel too damn low to put my happy face back on. Things are not good – not good at all. I’m trying to recall when things went sour and what I can do to fix me. All I can think of is that it’s me. I’m the cause of it all. I’m the one with the problem and I cause the problems in those around me. I’m tainted, less than nothing and lower than the dirt beneath your feet. The guilt is all consuming, it presses down on me until I can hardly move and my breathing feels labored.

Sitting with some friends in a club I’m trying to lift myself out of this hole and get on with things. My brain is still not on top form and I’m finding it hard to follow the conversation, especially above the music. A smile is pretty much plastered on my face and I’m fighting to keep it there. I’m determined not to spoil the evening by falling apart (again). Inside my thoughts are screaming but I try to separate that part of me and carry on regardless. This isn’t me, but it’s all I feel able to show. Even I’m not comfortable with my despair, so letting others onto it is pretty much out of the question.

There it is, just three little excerpts from my experiences. That’s how it was for me (there’s much much more, but I’m not ready for that just yet).

Rachel Studley © 2002