You see the problem with depression, isn’t as much about how I feel. I understand how I feel and I am partially fine with it. I have days where I don’t want this to go on and I have slightly, only slightly better days too. You see it’s not as much about how I feel. It’s about how terrible I suppose to make others feel with my presence, with my constant sighs, with my recluse, with my discontentment about everything. I know it’s utterly annoying to be in presence of such a killjoy and yet I can’t help it. I try, believe me, I do. I try and fix myself so people can be free of the necessity to constantly ask me, “Why am I so miserable?” or worse “Why do I pretend to be sad?” But I don’t know how to answer that. Relationships, love, people who are trying to cheer me, trying to make me happy so desperately. They do things that make me feel so endeared, but the thing they want me to feel, HAPPINESS, I can never seem to define it. I know not why I’m such a blue person. I just am. Of course, if I really go deep into it I can pinpoint the copious amount of memories that acted as catalysts to my condition. But inherently I suppose I was always predisposed to be this way now. I have a lot of things that can make someone jealous, envious perhaps. But still it’s just nearly impossible for me to look at the so-called bright side that everyone keeps talking about, or for that matter, see any good in myself.
Not saying that I have been a miserable person all this while, but if there was a bar graph for it, the yellow, happy bars would be dwarfed and plunged into non-existence compared to the blue and grey ones. Initially, I sought hobbies and passions, but even though I am blessed with so many creative talents to use as outlets but these talents don’t overshadow the abyss that constantly tries to suck me in. There are days when I feel like doing something. But the slightest criticism of what I want to do, makes me feel so hopeless that I embrace the fact that I’ll never truly accomplish anything in life. Nothing gives me peace, nothing makes me happy and no matter whatever I create, I am never content with it. This monologue is no different either. I still try and fail miserably and I understand it’s a futile thing that I keep following this doomed pattern of self-expression to self-hatred. I try so hard to reach out to family and friends, but they all seem so distant now, caught up in their own complexes or maybe trivial thoughts. Maybe I have made them distant with my psychological self-impulsed exile. They try to reach out sometimes and it upsets me. It upsets me because I don’t know how to answer or what do I say? What do I talk about? What if I say something wrong? Or if I am quiet they are going to ask me dreadful questions like “ are you okay? “. How do I answer that? How do I answer such a question? Do they not know I have been this way for ages now?
Between days of not sleeping then sleeping for 20 hours at a go. Between days of not eating and then stuffing down so much that it upsets my delicate internal balance. Between days of being pathetic to a rush of such immense emotions that you become hysteric or worse, catatonic. Between shutting yourself off to the world to days where you would pay for someone to just sit for a few minutes with you. Between days of great, majestic, creative overflow to days where I am so blank people think I’m brain dead. Between days of being scared of non-existence to days, I’ll rather welcome it. The only remedy I personally see is, dying. Suicide if that word doesn’t make you wet your pants. Suicide, how people gasp at the mere mention of it like it is affecting them directly somehow. Like they know why a person would consider doing that. Then there are people who say you are alive because you want to live. No, I’m terrified of the act of killing myself and the aftermath which is certain oblivion. And the only reason I go on is that I understand that it would cause pain to others, they will feel the guilt that they could not read the signs and understand all too well. I don’t want to inflict such torture on people who love me. I don’t want to talk about my feelings either. There’s only so much you can share before it becomes tiresome for people. This rant of mine isn’t supposed to accomplish anything.
I thought it was a skill set that maybe I could learn to suppress my overwhelming misery and be a better person for others. But the more I tried, the more the vacuum of grey sucked me in. so don’t think I am avoiding you if I don’t answer your phone. Don’t think I am in a foul mood if I cannot contribute to a conversation. Don’t think my doom and gloom talks are because my heart was broken and don’t think it is because of you. Don’t think I am pretending to be sad. Trust me, I try, trust me I smile for your sake so you wouldn’t have to try too hard. Trust me I don’t share my issues with you because I don’t want to burden you with the need to try and make me feel better. I understand everyone has a lot on their plates. I have no motive for this rant. It’s just that I feel it’s my fault when actually it’s not. I love this feeling, but I don’t want it anymore. This loneliness is my guilty pleasure but it also kills me. I get reminded of it every day but I don’t wanna remember it anymore. I wanna let go of it, but I am too addicted to it. And finally, you know, I don’t have nice words to give this a perfect ending, because to be honest, I have never known them and I don’t even like them because in reality nothing ever ends happy and if it does, my darling, it’s not the end yet.
I am just tired of being ‘me’ in front of everyone, trying to convince myself that I would be able to fit in this world by being and showing what I truly am. I am tired of getting hateful scorns. I am tired of telling what I actually think and being told off because of that. I am just tired. Too tired to show me now. I will change now. I want to change. I will say what people want to hear. I will do what the society’s norms allow me to do. I will talk about what people need to listen. My opinions will be my treasure and fiction for anyone who is not me. I am trying. I am tired but I am trying. I am as tired as you are after reading this. I am too tired to express my thoughts. Too tired of opposing someone when they tell me what to do. Too tired of giving explanations now. Saying sorry is my rescue. Sorry, I don’t have a nice ending. Sorry for everything I do.
This is a guest post. Written by: anonymous. Photos by: wallpaperscraft.