Being depressed is not what you think it is
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live — Norman Cousins 1915–1990
One day in summer, I was on the shore of a great deeply colored sea, just lying there on a comfy chair, along some friends and companions. We all looked good, looked glamorous and surrounded by loved ones. It was summer time, the weather was warm and we went swimming every once in a while.
I’ve always been warned about going deep into the sea and I’ve been always cautious, hell I was the one making sure whoever is swimming with me is close by in case anything happens. Later, things changed as a matter of growing up, a person is just so fed up with rules and do’s and don’ts, he lets things go by and experiences the blood rush into his body breaking all the old habits and taboos.
This day in particular, I swam all the way far from the shore, it was so liberating, accompanied by some turbulence down in my tummy, I still enjoyed it. There is no joy or fun if you haven’t tried or defied what you’ve used to do, that’s what I thought. I then decided that this would be my new beach day routine, knowing surely I might drown at some point, but fuck it I always knew this, it was no fun staying safe, it got me nowhere.
We’ve been on this same beach for days. I’ve been warned several times of my insane encounters, by my companions on the sunny warm beach, whom seemed to enjoy themselves so much just lying there, I only felt intrigued to swim further and for longer. I like swimming I can swim for hours and hours. The only thing that really bummed me was I did this with the company of myself. Still didn’t stop me.
Later that week, one day in the early morning there was no one but me on the beach, I was alone, not even a life guard. I still went into the sea and swam. Well, I also chill and let the waves do their job swinging me around. Though it was still sunny and warm, stronger than usual wind gasped and waves got bigger. I made sure I was able to reach out for the shore and make sure there was land beneath me every now and then. Till eventually, that wasn’t possible.
I experienced drowning, for the very first time in my life, with no one around to even notice that I wasn’t there anymore. It took me some time to realize that there was no way I could swim back to safety. I could float though. I thought of crying out for help, but face it that was useless since there was no one there in the first place. I just stayed floating there quietly. Till the shore started getting smaller and smaller. Still I see no use of crying out for help, there are barely any seagulls even. I saw the huge waves getting closer and ramming me down to the sea bed. Whenever I grasped some air and stood still I was held down again till I hit rock bottom. I wasn’t scared, why would I be? I am still breathing, I am not cut or bruised or got eaten by a shark. I was frustrated, I was angry, there is no one there to help. I can’t even hold on to anything being swept along the way. It was almost mid day, there’re only constant huge waves. Can’t breathe and tired. I shouldn’t have done this from the first place. I am whom to blame for this. What’s the use of thinking of a way out? Using the same think pit that got me here? It was pure self hate. Anger. You moron.
If there is anything to happen out of thin air, it would be a miraculous rescue mission through the wide sea searching for me and fishing me out. But I don’t believe in miracles. Yeah so basically that means it won’t happen. Just think of the odds.
I felt EMPTY, there were no feelings. There was no use to feel anything because it gets you nowhere. I started doing whatever made me feel alive, I ate raw fish, drank salty water. Ate bits of my own decayed body. I needed to fill up myself voluntarily with any kinds of feelings, disgust, remorse, bitterness, I wanted a reason to stay alive even if it was only feeling nauseous. But you know what, why would I bother, these waves are already heavier than before and they drag me to the bottom even deeper it takes me ages to return back on the surface to catch my breath. I actually left myself to die. It’s easier, it’s giving up the worthless fight for your worthless life. It’s choosing to leave without pain. Seeking to live elsewhere.
This all can’t explain how a clincally depressed patient feels. No matter how hard I tried explaining it doesn’t give it any justice. This is a cry for help from everyone whom experienced real depression. To friends and family, please just be there.
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