Personal Post: Depressive Experiences, Part 1.

This is part of a recreational essay that I'm working on. It had no title yet, but when I finish it I'll figure something out. This is the first part of the essay, complete with some song lyrics that I added for good measure. It's a fantastic song by one of my favorite bands: Throwing Muses. Anyway, here's part 1.

“So my parachute is hanging around,

I guess I bust it on the ground.

Nothing helps me fall;

Nothing helps me float;

Today, I wanna walk away.”

-“No Parachutes” by Throwing Muses

The first time I talked to my mother about depression, I remember her asking, “When did it start?” to which I replied, “I don’t know.” To speak the truth, I still don’t know. I've always said that I woke up one day and I was depressed, but that’s not what happened; in all probability, it crept up on me, a black wave ready to smother its victim. Instead of facing the wave head-on, I turned my back, ignoring it completely. I paid the price.

My first episode did not cause great sadness; better put, it wasn't very deep yet. As time went on, and I experienced more episodes, the melancholy feelings only intensified. Even out of episodes, the depression ran in the background. During these episodes, I either ate too much or too little. Sometimes, I would go hours and hours without food, sometimes not eating until my mother made dinner that night. The insomnia I encountered each night became almost unbearable. I would lie in bed for hours, fall asleep, and then wake up a mere three or four hours later. Sleep never came easily, and when it did, I always overslept, going to bed at 9 and waking up at 11 or 12, sometimes staying in bed longer.

Depression is a tricky little bastard. It likes to stalk you and wait until your most vulnerable moment, and when that defenselessness is triggered, it strikes. Your whole being is consumed by this dark shadow, and you’re trapped in its grip, prey to the predator. Instead of killing you right away, it plays with its food, and causes you great distress. It’s like a cat playing with a mouse; the cat liked to rub it in the creature’s face, its way of saying, “Haha! You can’t escape from me!”

One thing I noticed that as time goes on, depression becomes easier and easier to hide. This may seem odd, considering that the sadness also becomes more severe; however, you become used to the way it feels to be blue, and how your body language and facial expressions cast that mood to everybody else. You can consciously realize how your posture is and what your face may look like and manipulate it to suit your needs. That was one of the first things I ever did to cope with depression.

I am terribly, horribly, deeply depressed. When I hit an episode, it is rock bottom. People noticed and questioned me, and I almost never had an answer. Once I started malfunctioning, I realized that I had to pick up a happy act and find many different coping methods.

So, I worked on my happy face, or at least, a normal one. Then, I learned about body language, specifically when somebody is sad. I figured out how to sit in my desk and look normal, when I was rotting on the inside. Trust me, it’s still difficult to do, and there are days where I slip up and everybody sees through my mask. Hell, my closest friends have grown to know better. It should also be noted that completely changing your body language and facial expressions is very difficult, and that I often slip up with something. When I hit the “numb” stage of my depression, it’s even harder to figure out what I’m supposed to do because my mind basically stops functioning and I find myself giving inappropriate responses to different situations. 

That's part 1. Part two will come in a week or so, probably longer considering I don't write everyday like most normal writers do. Goodbye for now!