Screaming into the Oblivion

And I Am Not Ok

It took me almost four years, and even now I don't want to admit it but, I am not ok.

I believe I have this thing I have learned to dub, Chlorine Depression.

To those of you who might not know what chlorine does to the lungs, it is a gas that if inhaled, gives the victim a feeling of drowning even though they are not in water.

And it's rather funny, cuz, I thought I knew what depression was.

The feeling of drowning and wanting people to pull you out of the water so they can only vary your weight, slicing your wrists when you are without attention, doing things and it being explained as "oh, it's that time of the month" or "teenage wasteland".

And I learned to just blame it on both and swept it under a rug.

Truth is, that's not quite it.

Depression isn't a pity party at a pool you throw in the middle of summer to try and ignore the pain and get someone to save you from the shallow end of the pool.

No, depression is being forced to go to that pool party and being pushed under in the deep end for a game of chicken.

But the water is really dark there and you can't quite see who's holding you down, you start to panic because you can't breathe, you struggle and fight and try to get a breath of air.

But the shadow above you isn't giving up and you only sink deeper.

As you sink to the bottom you catch a glimpse of the person who held you down, only to realize, it was you.

And you stay under the water, watching the people above you swimming happily, safely.

You feel jealousy in the fact that they are safe and free in the shallow waters while you are vaguely aware that you are loosing oxygen.

Depression is being trapped on the deep end and each time you try to move to the surface, the water gets deeper and the help gets further.

But it's truly just you.

Your eyes are playing tricks on you and you start to believe you of all people don't deserve to be saved.

Each time you feel the fight rising up in you, you come to the sudden realization the pool isn't a pool anymore.

It's a raging sea, the waves crash down on you each and every moment, no matter how close the sun may be, you will never get there.

Depression is being trapped in the water and when you get saved, the boat turns its back on you once in shore.

When you make it home you wonder if it was a dream.

"Does it really exist? Did that all just happen?"

But looking at your wrinkled skin, you brush off the sand and sweep it under the rug, and go to bed.

Depression is being trapped, a little frail child in bed, scared of the monsters under the bed and in the closet.

They knock in the dead of night and the closet door opens.

And you're back under the crashing waves.

Isolated.

Drowning.

And too afraid to ask for help.

So you sink until there's nothing but black.

And that's how it used to be, at least for me.

Now, it's like a slow seeping gas, guiding its way through the vents and into my lungs, until I am aware of the fact.

I can't breathe.

Almost four years and I still don't believe my friends when they confirm something is wrong with me.

But I have the guts now to say.

My name is anonymous

And I am not ok.