The purpose of the following passage is to document the episodes of my life that no-one else really sees. It is to demonstrate that whilst I understand leaving this earth would be selfish, sometimes it really feels like the only way.
I would like to emphasise that these are the worst times, and not a representation of my daily life. Having said that, these experiences are real and, I hope, portray through words why depression has the capacity to kill.
From depression to destruction
Depression always exists within,
Sometimes I am stronger than it,
Sometimes it is stronger than I.
I feel a sense of dread.
I recognise this feeling, and I know there’s a chance things could go wrong.
I know there’s a chance I could want to stop living again.
I know this feeling.
I know it because I lack the energy to talk,
I wake up three times in the night,
Each morning accompanied by emergence from a nightmare,
My body; sweating yet freezing,
This nightmare has been here before.
I consciously beg myself not to let it happen again,
Please don’t feel that bad, please not again,
But I know it’s going to happen anyway,
I can feel it and the feeling is too strong.
I am being drained,
Everything I value is being sucked out of me with a syringe,
Once the draining ends,
I am once again at rock bottom.
Staring at myself in the mirror,
My face morphing into a different person,
I am under that spell again.
Red and blotchy, pulling at my hair,
Clenching my fists and screaming.
Except the screaming makes no sound,
My voice has been stolen,
And I know that nothing can make it better.
Everything is dark and I am frantic,
I feel like I am bursting at the brim,
The tension and the pain engulfs me.
I need to get out of myself,
I need to get out because it hurts to be me.
I cry as though I am a child again,
Slamming my fists onto the ground,
Writhing with frustration, hatred and angst.
I just want the pain to go.
But I am trapped,
Trapped inside my own body,
and trapped inside my house.
I can’t leave,
I don’t want to be seen,
I don’t want to be embarrassed for wanting to die.
So I stay in my room,
Wracking my brain for something to help,
Not one thing to justify my existence.
I want to die,
But I am scared.
I am scared it will hurt;
I don’t want to hurt anymore than I already do,
and I am selfish.
Selfish for leaving those I love behind,
But you don’t,
You don’t understand that I need to get out.
I need to end the torture that resides in my own mind.
So what keeps me here?
The intrinsic feeling of hope that makes itself known,
yet offers no explanation.
A small pin-prick in the hopelessness,
A flicker through the mind,
But something that says “not today”.