I fear depression most. It has this little way of digging into me, it touches my scars and peels away the scabs slowly … it’s tormenting. It feels so loud and yet so silent. Do you know that when it creeps into me I don’t realize it?
At first I thought it was normal. I’m just a little sad, I’ll be okay later. Then it became it’s all right. I don’t wanna talk but I’ll talk later. Then came the avoidance. I couldn’t stand the crowds … they were too loud, too noisy and hurt my eardrums. I loved the silence. I liked curling away in the corners and not talking. I didn’t think it was wrong. I was just being an introvert, I told myself, it is normal. That’s how I drove my hopes.
Then came the ‘his and how are yous?’ It was funny, you know? People ask how you are when they have already marked the answer in their minds as ‘I’m fine’. It’s the norm, they don’t ask because they want to know, they ask because it’s the right thing to do. I wanted to scream that I was not not fine, that I needed help. But how?
I guess admitting to it was the worst part. I didn’t believe I was depressed. Depression wasn’t my cup of tea, it wasn’t what I faced daily. I was just a normal girl, a girl with dreams and hopes. So how could I be depressed? What could be my reason? Bad and good happen. We walk through them. Daily I repeated the words but I knew within myself. I knew I was dancing on the edge of the abyss, I knew I would fall, but still…
People advice that you should talk when you feel depressed, but how do you start? What do you say? The questions played in my mind. I didn’t want to admit something was wrong. I was in denial.
This little voice would whisper in my head: “You’re okay, everything is fine.” But my heart would beat a little faster, a little painfully, clenching harder to remind me that I wasn’t fine, I was just pretending to be.