The D-Word

I woke up on the floor with no memory of what had happened and how I got there. Seemed like I had passed out while fixing myself a snack. Well dinner at 3am, actually. I helped myself get up, go downstairs and curl into bed. In-between trying very hard not to lose consciousness again in the process, I realised that this was what my life was always going to be-helping myself get back on my feet every time I fall. I have no one and no one has me.

I really wanted to get away from this city after I was done recording the album. I really wanted to clear my head after what was one of the most intense weeks of my life. But recording is an expensive process and even more so when you don't have a sponsor and neither are your parents rich and influential. I (we actually, not me alone) spent whatever little money I had saved. So I'm stuck here with a million little things in my head, which is making me go crazy.

My depression has been quite uncontrollable for the last week. I just want this phase to get over so badly. I hate bothering to tell people about my depression because very few people take it seriously. Depression is not a feeling, it's a disease that eats away every cell in your body as time passes. "My boyfriend forgot our 5-month anniversary, I'm so depressed"-no you're not depressed, you're just upset. I hate how loosely people throw around the word like they really know what it feels like to be depressed.

There are times when I don't leave my room for days at a stretch. I cut myself off from the outside world. I don't talk to anybody. I don't eat. I don't shower. I just lay in my bed praying for the day to get over. Until I wake up the next day and it's just the same, no better. I don't know why I am so incredibly sad. I cry and cry for hours when no one's around and yet I feel no better. Every morning has a fresh start they say, but all my mornings are the same. It's just crying against the pillow for no apparent reason and then going back to sleep again.
Sleep it out, sleep it out, I tell myself. But it doesn't work. I try writing new material, but my voice chokes as I try to sing.

I remember my self-mutilation phase when I was 15ish, I'd take a blade and make incisions on my skin just to stop feeling all the pain that I felt in my heart. But I was never one of those teenagers slashing away just to get some attention. I'd keep my scars a secret, in places which you wouldn't notice at first. I can't do the same now. I feel like I still owe my body some mercy for what I've put it through all these years.

The worst part of depression is that it makes you forget all the good things about you, around you. The melancholy overpowers whatever little good thing you have going on in your life. I know I should feel lucky to be where I am today, but I can't help but feel like all that motivational self-talk is just bullshit.

I know I can get through this. I have been through this feeling so many times before. It's just that I'm growing older as everyday passes and the struggle to be happy is just getting harder with every fit.

I want to fast-forward to the future when I'm with someone who understands my depression and loves me inspite of it. I can be quite adorable otherwise. I promise. Although my depression hangs over me like the shadow of death. I want to be able to share my grief with someone, anyone. That's all I want from life sometimes.
I guess that's why I always end up making the worst possible choices when it comes to relationships. I think I give my heart away too soon every time, make love with all the passion that I have inside me only to be greatly disappointed by the big void that nobody seems to be able to fill. The fault lies in me, maybe I'm too needy, too hopeful that someone will fix my depression for me someday. Maybe I have to do it on my own-get over it and not let it get to me instead.

I have lived for days at a stretch without any human contact. I have literally not spoken to another soul for days at a stretch at one point. That was the lowest I have ever sunk. This time it sure feels like a close second. I wonder what difference it would make to other people if I didn't exist at all. Would they notice at all? Would they care? Would they remember my face and remember all the seemingly good things about me?

All the calls I get on my phone are either work-related or people calling to talk about themselves. Nobody wants to hear my story so I tell no one anything. People on social networking sites make witty comments and logical arguments every time I post anything and yet none of them know me. Or maybe I should say none of them have any idea what really goes on in my head, who I really am.


"I am fine. I am good" that's what I tell the world bravely,even though I feel like I've been broken into a million little pieces. I really don't know how to fix this on my own. Therapy's not helping either. Like I said before, maybe this will what my life will always be like. A strong, confident person to the outside world who'd drop everything to help someone else out, but irreparably damaged inside. Only I know how hard is to be suffering from a disorder which no one else seems to understand.

Anyway, why am I even writing this? Does anybody even read this anymore?

Goodnight cruel world.