My visualization of my depression
When I hear lots of people describe their depression, they often use the color black. My depression, however, is definitely grey. It’s a grey haze. It’s a grey, soggy, oatmealy porridge that drenches the world. Things become less colorful, less interesting. Sounds are muffled by the porridge and movement is made much more difficult. When you’re in this state, this state of the world being covered in porridge, it’s hard to keep your mind occupied by anything but the porridge—after all it has invaded nearly every nook and cranny of your consciousness. Questions like “where did this porridge come from?” “why do I have to deal with this porridge?” “why can’t it be like before when there wasn’t all this gunky porridge around?” and the most morbid question of all “how do I get out of this porridgey place? I need out now, I’m trapped!” swirl around your brain. It feels mundane, even silly, to be in such a predicament.
And that is how I feel depression.
It’s kind of like the Nothing from The Neverending Story—a peculiar, colourless, irresistible unreality that eats away at the real world. From time to time you look at a calendar and comprehend that another day, week, month has passed, but you can’t remember what you’ve been doing or where the time went. It feels impossible to keep up with things, or accomplish anything substantial. Will I always be this way—fumbling around for the Real before it falls into the pit too?
I really hope this higher dosage takes effect soon. Yesterday was sort of a haze of pain, which I know is the kind of thing that invites pity, but I would rather people be forgiving—of all the times I flake out and disappear.
