“What is depression like?” They ask her.
The number of times she has tried to explain this, put her feelings into words, was innumerable. There’s no way they would ever understand, but at least they were trying. It was nice that they wanted to know her.
“It’s hopelessness,” she replied, “It is walking into a room and knowing that you don’t belong, you aren’t wanted now nor will you ever be. It is that feeling of someone pulling away when you try to reach out and touch them. It is pitch-black nights, staring at the ceiling until morning because your brain will not let you sleep. It is the chill in the breeze that sends shivers down your back, but you have no place to take refuge. It is leaving home knowing you can never go back again.”
“Yeah, but it is more than that,” She continues, “It is sitting out of recess when your friends are all playing Red Rover. It is serving time for a crime you didn’t commit. It is wanting to be heard only to learn that you have no voice at all. It is the lump in your throat, the pit in your stomach, the slouch in your shoulders. It is being convinced that it is all your fault and you are the problem with this world. It is thinking that you probably deserve it.”
They sit with puzzled looks on their faces, unsure how to respond. “But you know it isn’t your fault, don’t you?”
“It tells you that you are wrong, that you are the problem, that the whole world would be a hell of a lot happier if you had never existed.” Her voice catches in her throat, “You become so numb, that any feeling will do, even if it leaves scars in its wake. The wave crashes over you and you are drowning, but you were never breathing anyway, so what difference does it make. It follows you around and takes away the light in your eyes, as you pray that someone might notice you are being held hostage.
You want them to see, but depression always hides. No one is going to notice. No one is going to care. That is depression.