A Subtle Sign You Are Depressed
I know I’m real. When I pinch myself, I feel the pain. I notice the fine cracks inside the elevator shaft of my building. I can feel myself breathing, feel my heart beating. All these are examples of a mind working, of a person who is real, right? But I don’t why, it just doesn’t seem like it. Like I’m breathing alright, but somehow can’t find myself feeling alive.
Every single day I walk by the same streets. Drive to the same spot. Press the same elevator button and sit behind a screen with the same tab displayed open. Sometimes the day slips by and I find myself on my bed late at night, barely realizing the events occurred throughout the day gone by.
Maybe because it’s the same every day. Apparently one does not have to be conscious in order to perform the same tasks they have been performing all their lives.
I don’t socialize much, so my circle consists of only a select few, whom I talk to every day of the week. The same conversations, the forced laughter and the sudden silence followed by a hasty goodbye.
It’s as if my life has been confined inside a box. Running in squares, passing the same things all day, hoping to find a curve in the said edgy ends. New day but the same monotonous ways.
Recently, I had been reading the Greek mythology intensely, where I came across the word ‘divine intervention.’ It’s when the Gods intervene in order to break the monotony of the plot and help the characters progress forward.
That’s what I need. I mean, not in the literal sense. It’s not like I want Zeus to pop out of any corner, breaking me free from the invisible chains gnawing around my ankles.
But something out of the ordinary may do just fine. It could be a new person, a new experience or the ray of a new opportunity lurking by, because God knows how bad I need it. I want to- actually in order to survive- I need to break free of the rut that I swear I can feel swallowing me inside out.
Like a black shadow birthing inside my chest, slowly spreading further with every step I take away from the light shining by. It’s like I’m walking in a pitch black tunnel, only able to see the small light shining right in front. But wait, that’s just not it.
I am walking and walking for what feels like ages and the light never seems to grow larger. It remains the same with every step I take. I stretch my hands and cry for help, hoping to caress the rays slipping by, only to be greeted by the unforgiving silence on the other end.
I walk, I stride, I run until my legs give out. I crawl, striving to find my way out, but the light doesn’t budge. It rests at the end of the tunnel as if mocking me saying that I’ll never be enough, no matter how much I run.
I think I may be a little too sad from the usual.
