What is depression? It’s impossible to explain. When you are very depressed or lonely- unable to leave the house, the bed, or to think of anything but the depression- it can be unbearably hard. Sometimes I feel so heavy that I can barely get up in the morning, so sad that I can barely keep myself from bursting into tears in the middle of class.
Bad days come in degrees. They are not all equally bad. And the really bad ones, though horrible to live through, are useful for later. I store them up. A bank of bad days. The day I had to run to the supermarket and saw and old friend that I don’t talk to anymore. “You’re too different from me,” she’d said. Apologetic but relieved. Or the day I was so depressed my tongue wouldn’t move. The day I made my parents cry (almost every). The day I picked apart religion and metaphysics and cried for hours about the unknown. Misery is having thousands of questions but not a single answer.
Other times, I feel like smiling until my face hurts, like dancing round and round the room until I fall down from exhaustion. It’s not something I can summarize in a few short sentences. It’s not just the textbook definition of “I feel tired and unmotivated and sad all the time.” It’s a swirl of colors and emotions, a paint palette of indistinguishable colors that I cannot get onto my canvas. I can handle it. Can I? I can’t. It started out so small. Arguably, it still is. Some days I’m fine. But when it gets bad, it gets really bad.
Such high expectations and so little support. How can I be positive? Such high aspirations but so little motivation. You can build me up, but no matter what I will always crumble and take everyone around me.
Depression is common amongst high school students. So common, in fact, that I will keep quiet. I am just a statistic. And usually, when winter is over and sunlight takes over the world again, I am better. Quite frankly, I’d rather be alone. I want to think things out, you know; to set my life in order, and I do that better by myself.