Depression is a dark, evil monster that slowly devours the mind. Bearing only a few scars, I struggled in its claws. A journey of many months, I constantly worked towards my destination while never leaving the boundaries of my bedroom. Clutching frantically, I reached for the light at the end of the tunnel. I considered myself weak. In hindsight I was weaker than I realised.
Every journey has a beginning. I didn’t realise I was standing in quicksand till I was up to my neck in a thick pool of self loathing. There is only one word to describe what depression feels like: isolation. At first I was confused, unsure how to handle these foreign feelings. I’d always tried to remain strong, but at some point anything will break.
Every time I was at home in my bedroom I would begin to think myself into a depressed state of mind. Nothing would happen to invoke the feeling of sadness, I was just cursed with the ability to make myself upset. Refusing to be restricted to the boundaries of my bedroom, I spent increasing amounts of time out the house; I tried anything and everything to occupy my brain.
Time passed. I became more and more detached from the world. In a classroom full of chattering children, I was alone in haunting silence. One by one people began to notice my abnormal behaviour, I stopped talking, I stopped listening and I stopped caring. I’d forgotten what being anything but unhappy felt like. My friends drifted away gradually, I was becoming a bore to be around: not my usual self. Yet a select few people stayed by my side, the candles that tried to save me from losing myself in darkness.
When I picked up the blade, I knew I needed help. Crimson tears coated my fingertips: A red river of relief. Then a shadow fell across me again, and from the corner of the room Depression smiled.
Welcome Back.
