On Depression

There are a lot of people’s experiences of depression out there. And every one is different because illness manifests differently in everyone. So I’m just going to add another voice because despite all the information being out there, many people still don’t take depression seriously.

This past week I’ve been slipping. I’ve been taking all my meds, attempting to do exercise, studying and socialising. But it’s been getting more and more difficult. I feel exhausted all the time. In the morning I avoid light. Even the light coming around the edges of my curtains is enough to make me cry and curl up further into the foetal position.

All day there is this one thought in my head and it is that I would rather be dead. I’m not actively harming myself. I don’t plan to do anything to hurt myself. But this terrible thought is following me around. Which doesn’t make sense. I’ve just received some good news. I have a new shiny laptop. I like watching tennis and Wimbledon is having some amazing matches this year.

Unfortunately the good stuff isn’t getting through. Hearing that I’m loved, that I’m being successful, that I am doing well isn’t affecting me as it should because the chemicals in my brain aren’t letting me feel that.

And logically I know that I am lucky in a lot of ways. I feel so weak that people I know have been through far worse things than me and they’ve battled on. I know this is temporary and it’s incredibly personal because it’s only in my head. But you can’t fight illness with logic.

So I’m doing less stuff. I can’t cook much, talk to people much, work much, enjoy much. I’m becoming less me. And what I know now is that this will end.

My mood will improve. I’ll see my friends again. I’ll look after myself again. I’ll get back into the world again. But right now? I’m hurt and I’m damaged and I hate life. All that is keeping me here is this stubborn belief that my life will get better and I will get through this. And the one thing I can count on is that I will be stubborn until I die.