I woke up one day feeling tired. I thought it was just a one-day thing. But then days went by and I realized I became permanently idle. I became sensitive to criticism. I was either sad or angry all the time. It felt like there was no escape from my bleak thoughts.
I guess, through time, I detached myself from my friends and family. I guess I didn’t want to worry them with my problems. But depression is not just a random problem – it’s real.
When my friends noticed my absence, they started saying things like: Oh, it’s just a phase, or Cheer up, or Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.
It takes courage to speak openly about depression. It takes courage to pour your heart out about something so private and so yours. The moment you decide to talk about it, your heart perplexes and fights its urges. Your mind puzzles and your mouth stammers, so you end up changing the subject.
It looked as if I were running away from people and as if I didn’t want to hang out with my friends like we used to. It looked like I had better things to do and like I was better off without the ones I grew up with.
As I am clutching my collarbone, I am thinking my friends must hate me now. I am thinking they are disappointed with me, but the truth is different. I am struggling with the bleakness of my mind every day, like literally every damn day.
So, here’s to all of those people I isolated myself from: I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t want you to be sad for me and I didn’t want you to be offended by my absent-mindedness. I didn’t want you to think your jokes weren’t funny.
I did, it’s just I couldn’t force myself to actually laugh. You know, that genuine, careless, from your heart sort of smile. It’s like my ability to laugh or even smile went numb. I know when something is funny. It’s like, I recognize that, but it doesn’t come naturally anymore for me to laugh carelessly and wholeheartedly.
I didn’t want you to think I was a bad friend. I was just not myself. And you deserve someone to laugh at your jokes, someone to listen to your stories and be present.
So, don’t take my isolation personally. It has nothing to do with you – it has to do with what I am facing right now.
I always thought alienation was only some long word writers used. As time flew by, I realized it’s a word that carries such a heavy meaning. It’s so tangible, so reachable. Therefore, I am writing this to let you know that it’s okay to feel detached and it’s okay to feel tired, but it’s not okay not to seek help.
You don’t have to be healed yet, but you have to be in the process at least.
It’s really important to take the time to feel what you need to feel.
It’s really important to not fake your smile when you don’t feel like smiling, but it’s also really important to get yourself out of that dark place.
No one can do that for you; no one can heal you. You have to do that even if it means clawing your way up. And do you know why? Because you have people that are waiting for you, people that miss you.
Depression has made me look like a snob, but I’ve decided I am not going to let that happen anymore. I am in the process, and the process may be long, but I am going to get there. Depression, existentialist crisis, nihilism, self-criticism, self-pity. We have to stop indulging ourselves in all these, and we have to be persistent.
Existentialism has taught me something: There is light at the end of the tunnel. We are the masterminds of our own lives and we decide which path to take. Feeling like you have no direction to follow means you are in charge of taking the reins and choosing the direction yourself.
Why? Because we are not those snobs the world is seeing, we are these beautiful human beings with a hard challenge in front of us, beautiful human beings that are going to get rid of the yoke that is slowing us down.
