depression is an illness; a sickness, while it may never be curable for some, it is treatable.
it hurts. it hurts you, it hurts your friends, and it hurts those around you.
it feels as though the world has fallen on you. as if your on the bottom of a deep ocean and you can see the sun, cloudy, and blue above you, and you know all you must do to break free is lift your hand and take hold of the light, but then you remember that you are under water, and it's difficult to breath, and you are so cold, and alone, and weak. you lose your strength; to move, to breathe, and to go on. you feel as though it would be easier to just not breathe anymore, because death would be easier than the pain, the sorrow, the fatigue.
you lay in bed and you watch the world move past you and you remember what it was like to be a part of that world, but you just can't reach it anymore. it's like you are the audience and everything around you is a great big play that you were not cast in. it feels as though the only thing that matters is that you cannot seem to make a difference in the world you so loved.
sometimes, you have a moment where you think you feel something other than how sick you are. sometimes you feel as though you might just break free. then you make one wrong step, and your tumbling back down the rabbit hole, back into darkness. your friends don't understand. most of them think you're sad, and you'll get over it. they don't know what to do to help you, and so, they leave you alone.
you shut out the world, and you lock yourself behind a door of pain. you refuse help, you refuse to feel. sometimes when it's good you can sleep, but even that harbors night terrors, and when its bad, you have to be awake, and see the movie of your life, reeling before you, you just wish that you could not wake up.... ever. the ocean feeling seeps in again. the moments when you feel like you're drowning without actually dying. the gasping for breath, because it hurts so much. and sometimes you find a place to let it out, and for a little while you feel better. some of the water recedes. you can breath, even eat.
but then the water rushes back, and it swallows you and drags you back down, like a rip tide, or a shark taking hold of your leg. you feel your lungs filling, and yet you do not pass out, or drown or die. you live, and you live, and you live. nothing seems to ease the pain. family makes it worse. they mean well, but telling you it's all in your head, or that you just have a low constitution helps... not at all.
your thoughts are jumbled masses of scattered ideas. your dreams are nightmarish. your body rebels as much as your heart. you just wish that you could do something, anything to reach the top, instead of laying about, wallowing in the mud. but no matter how hard you try, you know that it will only result in failure. so, why try?
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