Behind the Mask

Life/Rant: Everything Depression

This entry is a collection of events that I have experienced in the last month. Everything from misuse of a word, dis-acceptance of depression, or misunderstanding the meaning of depression. 

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At my cousins' house, we were watching a Kung Fu Panda 2. That's the one where the Furious 5 and Po go fight off the peacock warrior. The movie was fun. 

The only thing that ticked me off for that 2 hours was a constant chant: "Oh shoot, suicide."

This was a younger cousin, probably 4 years younger. Every time Po would jump down from a building, or jump clumsily into a fighting scene, he would point out that he was "suiciding."

As if he even KNOWS what goes behind the act of suicide. That MAYBE, its more than just jumping off buildings and stepping up to danger. MAYBE, suicide involves emotional distress. MAYBE, there is a backstory of why the character wants to end it. MAYBE, suicide is NOT the same thing as BRAVERY?

Depression is more than jumping off a building.

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Recently, I was writing in my journal. I figured this kind of helped to release some of my stress. One of my "friends" asked what I was doing. Prompted, I trusted that he wouldn't judge me for it. 2 minutes of silence later, he threw it down to my chest, and told me to rip up the notebook. 

On that page, I was writing about my depression. 

He said that he didn't like that I had those thoughts. He said that throwing the book away will help me with forgetting it. Never for a second, though, asking about WHY I wanted to write down my feelings so much. 

Sometimes, that kind of feedback you get from people gets really hurtful. You then become limited to a select few, your best friends, because they seem like the only ones who won't judge you for every fuck, shit, or bitch. They won't judge if you were talking about having kids with someone. They won't judge you if you fell into a depression. They'll always be the one cussing with you. The one that reveals their secrets after you. The one that hands you a rope to hold onto. 

 The only problem I have with throwing stuff away, a little more if it was a JOURNAL entry, is that I don't like things thrown away. Sometimes, I want to get rid of the thoughts and extreme emotions, but there is also a Borderline side of me that can't imagine throwing LIFE out into the trashcan. I guess its like a memory. What I did at the moment. Why I felt that way. What it means to me. Stuff like that. 

It's really complicated, in that: the reason I am in depression is also part of reason I can escape. The reason is that I hold on to negative thoughts for too long. The escape is also to hold on the positive thoughts for longer. Get it? I guess you could say that I am different. You might find comfort in throwing away things. But, I get more hurt when I throw things away.

Depression is not just released from ripped pages of life. 

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On the same day as the scene above, another kid asked to read my writing. I also trusted him quite a bit, since he was a person I've known for a long time. The last page I was writing was a rant about life in general. And a shallow dip into my depression. 

The guy read it. I just sat there, waiting for him to say something comforting. Something that would lift me up for a second. But he didn't. He returned the notebook, and said: "You don't have that bad of a depression. If you think that you have it hard, you don't even know me. My thoughts are so much darker... Emptiness feels like a hole in your heart, not when you can't think straight.That's the wrong definition."

Enraged, I cussed, flipped him off, and walked briskly to another place. 

As IF DEPRESSION was a sash of merit badges, where having at least 13 makes you a fucking Depressed Eagle. Where Crying, Tiredness, and Emptiness are mandatory. Ranting and Cussing as a elective. THE MORE COLLECTED, THE MORE FUCKING BRAGGING RIGHTS YOU CAN CLAIM. 

AS IF DEPRESSION had a DEFINITION. AS IF THERE IS A FUCKING FINE LINE THAT SEPARATES SANE FROM ILL. AS IF A "WEAK" DEPRESSION WAS NOT ENOUGH TO KILL A PERSON. AS IF WEAK DEPRESSION WAS NOT TO MAKE A PERSON STAB A HOLE THROUGH THE HEART. 

Right after that, I continued writing. More anger. More depression. More confusion. More insane. Ranting about the fact that people JUDGE me for admitting that I have a mental condition. 

Depression should not be scaled for the purpose of discriminating against a lower-classed suicidal. 

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Today, a girl in my class asked me to draw something on her arm. Seeing the low-income, inked tattoo that surrounded my left arm, she allowed me to draw Avicii's logo--spelling A & V in triangles. 

But, as I drew the logo to perfection, she said softly: "Oh yeah, could you write KMS right under the logo, too? I'm really stressed out right now."

Immediately, I flashed back to the times that she mentioned being depressed. About how she was unhappy or something. But what fucked me up is the fact that, for me, it is almost impossible to tell if she was actually feeling that way. If her words were true. If she was not just in the PMS time with extreme emotions. 

Because personally, I hate when people second guess that I even have such emotions. On the other side, no matter how hard I try to understand people, sometimes I just can't believe in them.

Depression is more complicated than just periodical sadness. 

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