Even in today’s society, the words above carry a stigma. They are used as adjectives against people, to imply that they aren’t worthy, or aren’t as valid a member of society.
More and more people are choosing to fight this. To get people talking about it. To break the taboo.
With that in mind, here is a little glimpse into my life. On and off, it’s been my life since I was a teenager. Don’t judge me. And please, don’t pity me.
Depression is a funny thing. Invisible to the naked eye. It makes a loner out of you. It persuades you that you’re not worthy. It eats all your energy, and convinces you that it’s not worth trying to do anything anyway as you’re not good enough to do it properly.
I call it a black hole, but it’s more like quicksand. I can feel it pulling me in, and the more I struggle to free myself, the deeper I go. It changes your perspective on day to day events.
Like a parasite it gobbles up all your positivity and happy thoughts, leaving you with an overall feeling of despair and apathy.
When I feel good, I make plans. I start accumulating materials for projects. I plan fancy meals. I buy the ingredients. I often even get around to starting projects, spurred on by my high mood.
But then it happens.
I panic. Suddenly I can feel the pressure of the things I’ve started. The projects and recipes seem enormous. I feel trapped. Surrounded by my own, now futile, plans.
I’m paralysed with fear. So much so, that even simple tasks become impossible to complete. I’ve forgotten about the planned projects by this point; just getting out of bed requires such a huge effort.
Before I know it, I’ve given up all but the essential, I go to work, I cook simple meals, I just about manage to wash up and do enough laundry to get by. And I sleep. My word, do I sleep. My bed becomes my haven. When I sleep I don’t feel the pressure. I don’t feel a failure. I don’t feel anything, which is such a relief from the waking hours.