The Prison of Depression

Do you want to know what depression feels like? 

Think of a foggy grey muck that encircles you head to toe. Severe depression strips you from being able to experience any joy in life, even when for all the world it appears you have everything going for you.   Watered down commentaries attempt to describe the soul rotting misery of waking up in darkness every day. Who are those who can bolt out of bed ready to face the day with their happy attitudes about life? I don’t know. I’ve never been one. I dread waking up. One of the things really depressed people look forward to is a respite from consciousness. This is why those who suffer tend to sleep so much. It’s escapism. Yet it isn’t, because even in sleep you can be terrorized by your daytime demons. The quality of sleep is not restful – in fact, rather fitful. This is one reason so many people take mind-numbing tranquilizers to dull their wakeful state just to be able to drift away to somewhere, anywhere else than the dangerous and unchecked arena of the mind.    

People experience the tiers of depression's challenges in different ways. It’s not being disappointed or being in a bad mood if something doesn’t pan out in your favor. You chipped you manicure? Bugger. Irritating, yes, but it’s not the end of the world. For a depressed person,  something minor (for whatever reason) can hurl you head first into a bottomless void of regret and agony. You associate daily life with walking through a minefield. Danger lurks with every step. That ad for an antidepressant that shows a cartoon figure walking around under her own cloud of rain sums up the feeling quite well (of course it does – sponsored by The Pharmaceutical Cartel). You NEED this drug to function. That’s another post, and I know far too well how drugs are touted as the magic solution. Not even children are safe from their campaigns.

It’s the ultimate mind-fuck factory, this thought prison that leads you through Dante’s circles of hell as you try to scramble your way out of the snake pit. The thoughts pull you back in by your ankles. Like a horror movie, the entity of depression knows what scares you. It knows what makes you wail in despair. It knows your saddest thoughts and flashes those across the movie screen in your head in incessant reruns. You are a spectator, but unable to avert your eyes.   

You have things to do? Most can buck up and get 'er done. A very depressed person knows what must be done yet can’t do it. Cannot. It’s not possible. It has nothing to do with laziness and everything to do with apathy. The effort isn’t worth it. You know you will feel better if such and such gets done. So the obvious solution is to do it. You have errands to run? Get in the car and go. But for a depressed person, the mundane becomes detestable to such an extent that not even the guilt for not doing the things is unable to motivate you enough to accomplish what is impossible in your mind.   

Once while touring Alcatraz, I was struck by something the tour guide told us. The island is positioned in just the right way that all the prisoners could smell the Ghirardelli chocolate factory wafting its chocolate scent across the bay, no doubt driving inmates insane. This is much like depression. You are stuck in a jail cell knowing everyone else is living happily while you miss out on what you know (on some level) is a gift – life itself. You can only observe from afar.    

You know those days when you feel like a sloth and nothing gets done? For many depressed people that’s every day. By getting nothing done I don’t mean cleaning out the refrigerator or reading a book your friend needs back. I mean responsibilities you must accept as an adult, as a parent. You can’t function. Your kids are hungry, but you can’t do anything about it because you can’t move. You have an empty stare and wonder if it’s too early for a drink. It’s only one in the afternoon. Can it be justified?    

And you can’t stop seeing those stories about the Yulin dog meat festival. This is horrible because an animal suffering is the worst thing in the world to me. Or those commercials by the SPCA. The thoughts hit hard, bating me. “Uh oh! She’s making some progress – what is she sad about? Let’s infect.” Self-sabotage is the name of the game. For a depressed person, thoughts take over and pollute your whole mind.   

You hope you will feel better tomorrow, or someday. You keep saying someday. But that wastes away today. You hide from friends and family because the idea of faking a smile is akin to torture. And you think no one cares about your problems. Or they are tired of hearing about them because they are always the same.   Your brain is wired differently. Some of the most creative genius comes from a desolate mental state. It can, but only If you can get any mental energy together to be productive.   

Your friends email you cures for migraines. You have had to invent numerous excuses that involve having them, because that’s a reasonable excuse to cancel plans. Saying you’re sad or not in the mood will get “I’ll cheer you up” from well-meaning friends and family. But you want to be alone, completely isolated, in bed, with the covers pulled up over your head. And you want to cry. And I don’t mean a few tears. I mean heart-wrenching sobs that no one would want to hear.   

You yell at people you love. You cry easily. They can’t help you but they can sure piss you off. And we are pissed at ourselves, because children have needs that must be met -no question about it. And you know are letting them down with your suffering. Another blow.   We do not feel sorry for ourselves in the traditional sense. We do feel sorry that we can’t get a grip as we are often told to do. We feel guilty for letting others down who matter as they stand by helpless, completely befuddled about their roles in all of this. They feel responsible You want to convey it’s not them or their fault, but they start to not believe you. It’s no one’s fault. It simply is.   

Some days are easier than others. I often do well when the stars align - deceptively so, or maybe not deceptive. Maybe I am getting a handle on this curse. It’s a constant roller coaster of wondering when the happy cart will upturn and everything you manage to put in there (composure, self-esteem, productivity) scatters across the road. And cars are coming, but you have to try to summon up the ability to put them back in and continue on your journey. It’s like you are that one slow car on a hill that everyone zips past because they don’t carry the burden of your load.   

Is life a beautiful thing? Yes. It is. Is it filled with sadness? Yes to that too. Can a depressed person overcome depression? I think so. But in order to answer that, you must be willing to look at your origins to discover what might be holding you back.         

Drawings and painting © Johanna Westerman 2016