If I were to use words to describe depression, I would leave the page blank.
Words have power; they hold meaning, evoke emotion, inspire change; but depression takes it all away. Even though you never forget how to say individual words, you forget the meaning behind them.
Conversations go much like the first day of a language class. You recite your words and respond to questions with proper answers learned by rote.
“How are you?”
But if you’re depressed long enough, you stop speaking because words take too much effort. You stop seeing people because pretending takes too much effort. You stop doing anything because the silence in your head, this emptiness of spirit, offers relief from the absolute knowledge that you are worthless.
The only thing sharp enough to cut through this numbness is physical pain, but you hate it. You hate your body’s stubborn ability to keep on living when you’re so tired of being alive.
And no one sees what I’m going through.
I mean, it’s not like there’s anything anyone can do. When I disappear, I disappear. We’re talking-off-the-grid, goodbye-GPS, leave-no-tracks-behind disappear. And when I come out the other side looking a little worn round the edges, no one will ever know where I’ve gone because they’re not supposed to know.
That’s the game, isn’t it? Smile big. Smile bright. A well-lived life measured in sunny shades of happiness. And that’s the real kick in the crotch, the final fuck you, the bitter punchline that no one gets.
Life is just a video game. Some people are great at it while others can’t seem to figure out the controls. A few simply rage quit before the final credits roll.