Depression Is Your New Best Friend

“I keep thinking, thinking, and my thoughts are all sick, and my head is sick.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Stories; “The Meek One,” written c. 1876

 Depression is a tricky bastard, he's a cold-hearted bitch. It fills your head with lies while hollowing out your heart. He tells you that you're worthless and that you'll never truly amount to anything with what he calls 'facts' to back it up. He pulls out a scroll and opens it up, it unravels and rolls. Next thing you know the list is out the door and he's announcing each failure and each unfinished project that now hangs over your head. He makes your head feel too heavy to lift and your eyes too tired to keep open. He convinces you to push people away because all you need in your life right now is him and a bed. Your friend becomes sleep, eating is your enemy. Daylight passing through your windows is a constant reminder of the time you are wasting- which Depression feeds on. He reminds you you've wasted a day in bed, again, and tells you that you'll just do it tomorrow. Ultimately you become so tired to fight it that instead of making yourself a cup of coffee and doing yoga in the morning, you grab the glass of water off your nightstand and sip what's left. You wear the same clothes from three days ago and just roll over to the other side of the bed. You push away the ones you love, though the remnants of feelings you once knew you strongly had barely whispered to you to stop it. Depression has numbed your love for others, and for anything at all. It has taken your feelings of happiness, love, and hope and shoved them in a box and locked them away. They're still there- but you don't see them anymore. Your heart longs for you to lay your head in your boyfriends' lap, for him to play with your hair and say "I love you" but Depression silences it and you turn on Hide Alerts from him instead. You want to grab lunch with your mom and catch up over coffee- but Depression lies for you and you tell her you're busy. You see your sister reminiscing over a night you remember loving- but he tells you 'good thing you gave her that to remember you by'. Your heart begs for you to ask for help, to discuss with someone what you're feeling- but Depression silences it again. His dirty hand claps over your heart and squeezes until it quiets. You lose over fifteen pounds in two weeks, feeding the other demon who sits in your head smiling as the pounds tick off. Depression has you pick sad songs instead of happy ones and eight minutes into your depressing playlist you cry wondering why you're so sad. Netflix recommends only sad and depressing movies based off of what Depression has had you binge over the last week. Tears stain your pillowcase every night and you wake up not quite remembering how you fell asleep. When you get desperate for the control you once had, you search your apartment for the razor blades you stupidly never threw out. You turn on the shower, you lay down the blade, and you sit on the cold tile as the water hits you. Then you do it. You hurt yourself to gain control. Your heart is internally pleading for you to stop this, stop hurting yourself, yelling at you that you are better than this. But the water, the pain, and Depression again silence it all. Like your heart has left your body and is pounding on the door to "get out of the fucking shower"- but you can't. You don't hear it.
 You have the weight of the world on your shoulders thanks to your new best friend and (ir)rationally you need to take control. So instead of letting Depression make you feel numb and hollow inside- like your heart has vacated the residence long ago- you make lines on your body to feel something again. You feel better for those seconds, or maybe not at all. You turn off the shower, you grab the bandages, you fix yourself up and you carry back on. Back to the bedroom, back to the isolation your demon in your mind has created for you, and back to sleep.
 Depression is horrible, and I wish it on no one. I hate feeling like that if I scratched my own chest open with my bare hands I'd find nothing. Like Depression has stolen my own heart from my body and hid it somewhere I will never find. I hate pushing away the people I love and the ones who love me. Depression puts it's hand over your mouth and he speaks for you. Depression thrives in the cold, in the dark, in the late hours of the night. It fucking thrives off of your tears, off of you mourning the people who you pushed out of your life when it hears you say "oh, I'm fine" to the people who ask if you're okay. It's like you have Stockholm Syndrome of your own mind. You become too afraid to talk about your feelings because Depression tells you no one cares, you're not worth the conversation, you'd just be wasting their time. You start to even believe the lies. What Depression called facts earlier when he first walked into your life- now include the lies of yourself that he's told you. And you actually start to believe it. You start to grow insane inside because you're fighting this demon no one else can see, hear, or feel. Which only feeds Depression even more. It's as if almost everything at this point feeds your Depression, which is exactly what he wanted.
 It comes in waves. But not the waves you see on the beach, the ones kids ride back to shore and can swim back out to. It comes in waves like tsunami's- sometimes with no warnings. You can be in a city you love, with endless opportunities and all of a sudden a few days later you've lost five pounds, you can't remember the last meal you had, you're wearing the same clothes that you wore to bed Friday, and you don't even remember where your toothbrush is. Your self-care is breathing. Your health checks become checking your own pulse in the morning. Your daily routine becomes non-existent. Your travel for the day is from the bed to the couch and back if you're lucky. Your happiness seems like a distant memory. It's like a giant wave came and sunk your boat, now you have no idea where you are or what to do. You're stranded on a little life raft with ships passing by just out of reach. You can scream and yell all you want, reach and paddle towards the ships- but they are always just out of reach. You feel alone. You feel empty. You feel nothing.
 You are nothing.
 That's what Depression tells you. That's how my Depression feels. Like the bad abusive boyfriend who has locked you in a room with the lock on your side. You can leave any time you please- but he's gotten so into your head that you don't really know if you can. You're not really sure if you can get back to your home, your happiness. So you stay. And you just hope you'll someday find a way out when you aren't so tired anymore. But until then, you crawl back in bed and that bad abusive boyfriend comes in, rubs your back, and says "see, it's not so bad here".
 Depression is a horrid abusive boyfriend that traps you in a relationship you didn't want. But eventually, once you realize your own self-worth is extremely more than Depression is leading you on to believe- you will fight, and you will get back. And you'll do any-god-damn-fucking-thing to do it. 

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