You choose to write this because the idea of venting out appeals to you. Mostly because you feel like, and would rightfully and circumstantially assume that you’ve got nothing to lose. You don’t really care if people find out who’s the face behind this story, or what they make of this. You’re too tired, too broken, too weak and too numb to worry about trivialities that once consumed you to the core. You’d guess you’d probably want to blame a host of things for this. Most of all, yourself. Your heart races and you breath heavy. It happens not as regularly, but where ever you are. On a running track, in your friend’s bathroom getting ready to catch a flight back to a home which you despise, in your bed when trying to sleep or in the middle of a mall. There’s just one thing in common with all these places, you’re always alone inside. You never thought you could cry, but you did. You were holding it in for too long, and it happened. You feel ashamed to share this with people, because they’re just going to laugh or assure you that it’s okay, that it happens to everyone. It really doesn’t. But that’s a fearful and dangerous way of living, in this day and age. To not care. You’ve got to care about people, and things, and the future, and yourself. You realize that, and I guess you’re lucky in that sense. Most people suffering from depression and having never been willing to be treated for it become bitter, vengeful and distrusting. Oddly enough, it still makes you feel stronger and lighter. To not care. With all the weight of the world that you carry on your broken shoulders, you’d like to at least bid riddance to concerning yourself with what others think. You’ve been doing that for a long time.
You sleep really late at night, thinking you don’t want to miss out on any chance of seeking happiness. Because it has for so long eluded you. So you stay up, hoping to live in the moment and to find some comfort from somewhere. You whatsapp your friends, chatting with them, pretending to be happy and showing interest in their lives. But deep down all you want to do is share your story with someone. You hesitate, and then don’t share at all. Because all the times you did or tried to, no one really understood. They would just draw parallels between your experiences and theirs, to see where the two stories intersect, hoping that they do intersect. Perhaps, they’re in the same place too. You don’t know. You wonder a lot. But all you want them to do is for them to listen. You decide to give up and turn in.
You wake up in the morning, because you’ve got to go work. They won’t understand if you’re depressed, or you’re hurting, or you feel a void inside you so far gone that you feel it’s pointless to dwell over it. Even though you just want to curl up inside your quilt and stay in that dark room forever, you drag yourself and shower and transit to work somehow. In all the time you’re not consumed with work, you think about the past and all the things that have happened that made you who you are. These are mostly negative thoughts, about the people who broke you, close ones. Your family. A father who never cared and a mother who cared too much to not care at all. You’ve left all of them behind. You’ve left everything you ever knew behind, and now you’re in a new city with a couple of thousands on you and good friends to rely on. At least you hope so. You still like people, though. You want to get to know them, maybe because you were lucky enough to hold on to compassion somehow.
It seems to come and ago. Depression. It reignites when there’s an event, a familiar feeling happy or sad from a long time ago, a sad song, familiar faces from a time that haunts you. It’s not as fickle as it sounds. Maybe people have it worse. You plummet, and sink down right to the bottom. It consumes you again. You sit in a café to begin work, and scout the tables with a quick glance to see what seem like happy faces. You wonder when was the last time you laughed and smiled like that. You also wonder what they’re all hiding underneath the surface. But you’re sure not everyone goes through something like this. When you finally muster the strength to come out of your cocoon and converse with someone, you instantly feel exhausted putting on half-hearted smiles and laughing when you really don’t want to. The worst is the realization that you can’t really talk to anyone, unless you want to drown yourself with subjective, apathetic, half-hearted solutions to your problems. People don’t really know how to listen, they’d just want to talk. You tell yourself maybe that’s because humans are intrinsically self-driven. Then you choose to walk away from it all for however long until it hits you again.
You work for a couple of hours, and you’re hard-working and committed. You overachieve, or at least try to. Not so people or your boss notice you, but because that’s just who you are. But no one really notices, and you don’t really care, you just carry on with work until you’re drained. You decide to take a walk. You walk until you coincidentally run in to a friend or an acquaintance, and you put up that fake smile again until when you’re alone. That’s when you genuinely feel what you’re feeling. You’ve walked around in your lonely shoes for a long time. It’s just a part of you now. You get by, but you sometimes think what if you were different and shit hadn’t happened and you weren’t broken, battered, scarred or lonely. Would things have been different? You spiral down in to depression again and you feel like you might just have another bad day. Familiar stuff.
You’ve seen how people interact, how they speak with each other, how they laugh and cry, how they get what they want, through genuine means or otherwise. But you know deep in your heart that you can’t ever be like them, because what broke you stays with you. It made you different. Maybe because you feel inferior and not worthy enough. You blame the people who were supposed to care for you. You can’t smile or laugh as hard, you can’t really cry because you’re numb to most emotions, you can’t enjoy many things like others around you do because that spark is just as broken as you are. Then you analyze all your insecurities. Is your face too distorted, your smile, your teeth, your body, your voice, you and what you carry inside. You remember all the times people made fun of you, and put you down and you had no one around you to tell you otherwise. Probably because you know how to put on a fake smile and mingle with people. You don’t feel angry or frustrated about this like you did years ago, you just feel depressed and sense this deep, perpetually lingering pain in your chest which you think most are unaccustomed to.
You just end up feeling like you’d want to be alone again. With your misery. Because by now, when the sun has gone down, and it’s time to go home, you’re too tired to pretend. You just want to be away from the world. Strangely, you feel most comfortable with yourself. You know anyone else would think they’ve worked hard today, they’d want to watch a movie or just chill out at home. But you don’t. Because you don’t know how to focus on the positives. You only worry about the negatives. No matter how hard you try to make yourself feel better about your day, it doesn’t really work out as well. You find solace in music, you play your guitar for a bit trying to encapsulate the meaning of every note that rings. You read and try to find the answers there. You get ready for bed, and the cycle repeats again.