Silverfish

Depression Story

October came and went and November introduced itself with some kind of tremulous vigor–striking into the evening with cold and damp nights.

Daniel awoke to a much quicker morning, every clock in the house reading an hour behind his digital watch. He thought it must have been daylight savings, and figured he was much too distracted to remember this seemingly consistent holiday.

So, he roamed around a bit in his room until his mind sort of shut off, and his eyes rolled back and collapsed into a semi-automatic state of machinery. This was usual for himself, a necessary routine when entering the regular world. He had gotten used to these fabricated emotions and almost took pride in how convincing they were. Of course a few of his peers would notice from time to time, but never dared to mention anything. They knew what was happening, but also knew they would not be able to handle that confrontation, so they persisted onwards, playing into Dan's game without interference.

He appreciated that much. Though at times realized someone must interfere, or at least care. He hoped they did, because living in a reality where no one really considers your existence can become very damaging. Perhaps he already felt that effect, and this robotic state he forces himself into is a result of that.

He feared an interruption, though. An interruption could completely destroy everything he had worked so hard to build up, and with his current state, would not be repairable.

Thoughts like these pushed Dan downwards towards the ground, closer to his interpretation of himself. He could feel himself drawing inwards, away from everything around him. Then the walls began to sink slowly along the baseboards of the house, sedated like honey and unfamiliar like a summer snow. He knew this derived from those debilitating thoughts of his, and felt that immediate shame for doing this to himself. He wanted to call out for help, but it be pointless. No one would be able to help him because he was alone.

Or at least, he felt it so.

The problem really was, he couldn't see an ending. The way out was so far separated from himself that everything literally closed in on itself. Every emotion, every instance, weighing the walls down further and further until gravity claimed them completely. This metaphorical "light at the end of the tunnel" was barricaded by all of these laments, and he knew he would never be able to reach it.