Depression kills. Smoking kills, too. In smoking you do know, the puff that fills your lungs with smoke that smoothens your stress levels has ill effects on your body. You know what actions is leading to your destruction. Every time the end of that cigarette gets sucked between your lips, your life reduces by some insignificant yet significant percentage. It makes no difference on day 1, day 2, day 3, day 41, day 60 and suddenly, you are addicted to it. You get addicted to your death. You feel satisfied when you do something that kills you every single time. Fastening the process of your death allures you to death. But in all, in smoking, you do know you are on a path to death. You know. In depression – YOU DON’T.
I wake up in the morning feeling down but mistaken it for my hate towards your work. I go to the washroom, splash my face with water to awaken myself but something inside me feels unconscious all the time. I look into the mirror, into my eyes and the absence of cheer, ambition and love in them and mistaken it for the boring feeling I have because of my boring job – maybe as an artist or as an employee. The spark is lost. Brushing my teeth, gargling, I don’t plan my day. I am blank. I don’t WANT to do things, I HAVE to do things. The colour of the clothes I choose are usually blacks and whites and grey because I don’t really give a shit to actually deciding what to wear and mistaken it for being productive enough to waste time on these simple things. The hot water of the shower runs down my body and I am as unaware of it as I am of the blood streaming within me. Layers of make up later, you I manage to blush with big eyes and a fake smile.
“I need a day off. I need a vacation.”
The honks from my car and the abusive words from my mouth increase for the first few days. I hate people for being so stupid.
“Common sense is so not common anymore.”
Fast forward to my workplace, my canvas, my worksheet, my laptop screen is as blank as me. I open my mouth just a little, I lift my fingers just a little, thinking of doing something but shhhh – there’s nothing I have that I can give to my canvas, my worksheet, my laptop screen, MYSELF. I mistaken this for not being creative enough, for being not good enough when actually, there is a dark shadow taking over my body, mind, brain and soul.
Going back home, I feel more unsatisfied than I felt in the morning and the honks and abuses go silent. Home. Netflix. A bowl of chips. No food. Bed. Yes. I do go to bed but you have left my sleep behind somewhere. Closing my eyes I count from 100-1 and 1-100 but all for nothing. I keep lying there, eyes wide open.
This goes on for days, slowly making a pit in my gut, a hollow in my heart and blankness in my brain. I start getting addicted to it without even knowing what I am getting addicted to. The noise in my brain gets lower and louder everyday.
Then, it suddenly hurts. Hurts the fuck out of my heart and gut. One day in the shower, I shed like metal sheds under the hot water. I cry, cry, cry but I don’t know. I don’t know why.
“What the hell is going on? Apparently, nothing.”
Surfing the net, I search “How to be Happy?” They say I should light lavender candles and smile at myself in the mirror and talk to myself trying to empower myself. I swear I do all of it. I repeat all these things. I talk to my colleague trying to explain whats going on but some don’t listen, some pretend to listen while some tell me its just in my brain. I listen to them very carefully. But nothing really improves.
“It’s all in my brain.”
I try hard, I try really hard to get shit out of my brain only to realise that there is no shit in my brain. There is nothing in my brain. There is nothing to improve on.
“What am I sad about?”
Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Work is going good, people love me, nobody died and I did not have an accident either. I am adequately rich enough to finance myself, I sleep, at least try to sleep, in the lavender scent every single night. Whats up? NOTHING. That’s what’s up. Nothing is up! There’s nothing. I feel empty. Hollow. Something is hitting me hard in my heart, I see it but I don’t feel it. As if some one has given anaesthesia to my heart and brain.
“How can nothing kill?
This is a fictitious piece, though yes it does depict a lot of truth about what happens with a person during depression. It is just the first part. There are three more to come. This is one of the things I have talked about in my earlier post – Click here to see.
I will post the other three parts consecutively for the next 3 days. Please do sahre it with all your friends and family if you think it’s worth sharing and give Libro Review a follow for more such articles and video book reviews within a minute! Until next time!
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