Depression. It came into my room, gave me a wicked, hypnotising look and clobbered my guts to the ground. It dented my sense of self, clouded my thoughts with emptiness and sucked the life and meaning right out of whatever was left of me.
I’d like to describe it like that, but of course, that’s not how it happened, even if it sometimes felt that way. In truth, it was more like a slow dance into hell. Quiet, sort of nice and not so bad at all in the beginning.
Hello, nobody there
I was not popular as a child. I didn’t have friends and being a brainy bookworm with a small frame certainly didn’t score me any “cool” points either. Loneliness soon turned into a bigger bully, one that told me there was something wrong with me. When the bully got tired, Failure showed up. I made the mistake of listening while waiting, hoping for something or someone to change, turn around and notice me. Failure said I must not be good enough to have friends. I turned to work to escape that voice. Music drowned it out, but eventually I couldn’t play loud enough anymore. I couldn’t play well enough. I couldn’t work any harder. I drowned and gave in.
I told you so
Depression came in, whispering, I told you so. I always told you so. I hated my life and yet I still tried so hard to look okay with it all. When I was done hating my life, it was all I could do to bother eating and be awake during what felt like endless, useless days.
That’s how it started. I listened. I did nothing. I thought those words were right about me. I ran away and it caught up with me. For the next ten years of my life after that, you could say I was in a relationship with depression and added anxiety, anger, numbness and self-harm to the party. We were a crazy little band, wreaking havoc without hope.
But the important thing is that this isn’t where the story ends …