The Thing About Depression

‘I feel stupid when I pray’

I’m not supposed to isolate, so I play the “swipe game.” Swiping on apps so at least I see a human face. Maybe they’ll want to chat.

They don’t. They just want hookups.

I don’t want to be a burden to my friends.

The funny thing about depression is that it doesn’t ask for your opinion. It just gives it to you. It’s like a child with no filter, your room’s a mess; you should probably clean it. Why is your stomach so big? You should probably exercise more.

The funny thing about depression is that you don’t have the energy to do any of the things it tells you to do. The only thing you have the energy to do is sleep, and even that is kind of iffy.

I slept for ten hours last night, but I didn’t really sleep. More like had periods of consciousness splattered with periods of vivid dreams. That’s the thing about depression: it gives you hyper-realistic dreams. You’re not sure if you’re awake or asleep.

You’re not sure which one you’d rather be.

You’re so tired of not living, you think about suicide a lot. Suicide is often not about wanting to die; it’s about wanting to live in a state where you’re not already dead. But that doesn’t make sense to most people.

Over the last two weeks, how often have you been bothered by any of the following problems (use a check to signify your answer). The choices are: not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly every day.

Little pleasure or interest in doing things

Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless

Trouble falling, or staying asleep, or sleeping too much

Feeling tired or having little energy

Poor appetite or overeating

Feeling bad about yourself — like you are a failure or you let yourself or your family down

Trouble concentrating on things — such as reading the newspaper or watching television

Moving or speaking so slowly that other people have noticed. Or the opposite — being so fidgety or restless that you have been moving around a lot more than usual

Thoughts that you would be better off dead or of hurting yourself in some way.

The form reads every time I go to have my medication checked.

Who reads the newspaper anymore, I think to myself. I lie and check “more than half the days.” Major depression is still major depression.

My first appointment with my therapist had to be within five days after I was released.

That was the rule. It gives you something to look forward to, a light at the end of the tunnel, they said.

The medication doesn’t solve the problem; it just makes it easier to make a gosh darn sandwich.

But what I really want is a milkshake.

My stomach’s too big and my bank account’s too small, so I don’t. I eat the sandwich instead.

Two years ago, Demi Lovato overdosed. Just a few weeks ago, she performed at the Grammy’s and sang the National Anthem at the Super Bowl.

I feel stupid when I pray, she sang into the mic. Words she wrote two days before her overdose.

How funny that is. Not in a comical way. In an “I feel you there” way.

I feel stupid when I pray.

The funny thing about depression is that it takes everything you know and flips it on its head.

You have a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, my therapist said. I think the biggest battle you have is the battle in your own head.

It’s a Mental Illness, I wanted to say.

I got what he was getting at, though. My thoughts threaten to eat me alive, and sometimes I let them.

You have a lot to live for, the voice on the other end of the line says to me.

Just take it one breath at a time.