Me, my despair, and I

It seems that most of my medium posts are about me and my depression. When I leave a bad period I have trouble understanding why I felt the way I did. This is a post I wrote while in the middle of one of my depressive episodes. In the hopes I would better understand them in the good times. I have not edited this because I hope it better captures my feelings at the time. If you have trouble reading about depression or just don’t have any interest, read no further. This may not be easy reading.

I have written about my depression before, yet it is something I struggle to comprehend and connect with when my mood becomes elevated or returns to normal. My depression is like a well with steep walls. Not vertical walls, more like a conical flask. The walls are black and made of stone. I lie at the bottom unable to get out. It looks like I can just get up and climb out but the walls are slippery stone. The incline is too sharp. Each time I try to get out, I end up tumbling back, cutting myself open even more. I am stuck at the bottom in the total darkness and despair.

Why am I here? I have no reason to be trapped here. Why cannot I just climb out? It feels like the here and now is endless and that this moment will become eternity. I feel like I will never get out. Yet I will. I always do. Eventually.

When I do get out, I cannot comprehend how or why I felt trapped in my own despair. Surely I could just pull myself together and get out of that well? Why did I have any reason to feel like that? I have a good life, a steady job, loving friends & family, and hobbies that I enjoy. I am privileged. There are many people who aren’t lucky to have the supports that I have. Surely me feeling despair for no reason is pathetic? There are better and far more deserving people in the world. Yet here I am feeling sad for no reason.

These thoughts make the walls of my well even steeper and slippier. When I fall back, the stones cut even deeper.

I must smile. Make idle chat about the weather and the latest political scandal. No one must see past my facade. My veneer of smiles and nonchalance must remain up. No one must see me trapped in the well of my own despair. I have let people see me here before. Never again. I have tried to let people in before. It only makes the walls steeper and sharper. This must remain my secret. My problem.

I know these feelings are fleeting. I know that in a few days I will struggle to connect with why I felt so sad. Yet that won’t help me in the here and now. Nothing ever has. This is my well. My despair. I must survive this. One more time. Again.