Depression feels like an unwanted, uninvited house guest.
At first you try to pretend you aren’t home. Ignore it, deny it access, maybe this so called guest will go away.
Shhhhh! Everybody just chill act like no one is home and it will go away.
The depression makes its way in. There you are hiding in your house hoping it will just go away. But of course not. You try to stall the depression, this unwanted guest. Just wait a sec’ let me finish tidying up the house a bit. I have some things I really wanted to do. Don’t you understand? There are things I’m excited about, plans I’m looking forward to completing, things I want to enjoy. Now just isn’t a good time for a visit. I don’t want you here right now. You are a shitty guest. Just go away. But no, this guest hovers around outside until suddenly he is inside. Making himself at home with no sign of ever leaving. You try, and try, and try to keep going like normal with this rude guest hanging around, taking over your house. But the depression is exhausting. It wears you down. Suffocates. Drowns. Until all you can do is get through the day and wait for it to be over. Wait for it to pass.
Depression feels like fog.
Not just any fog, but a thick, heavy, slow-moving fog. You can see it coming. Watch it rolling in. Depression rolling in, coming for you. It’s there and you can’t turn it around. How do you stop fog? It seeps into everything. It coats everything it touches. It’s heavy, crushing you down. Every time you hope for a light fog one of those early summer morning fogs that burns off with the sun. It slows you down, but you can still see the light. You can have your friend hope with you. Hope lets you know it will be over soon. You know it won’t last for long.
But sometimes it’s not a summer fog. Sometimes the depression feels like a thick, cold, pressing, dark fog. Hard to move. Can’t see what is ahead of you. Can’t see what is around you. No clue to how long it might last. Nothing to guide you in the way to go. But you have to keep moving. Struggling to get through it. You can almost taste it. It takes your breath away. Like breathing underwater. Like breathing through cotton stuffed in your mouth. Like trying to move though your body is bound tight. This fog of depression clouds everything: your vision, your hearing, your mind. It wraps around you. Invades you.
Depression takes control.
Depression feels like someone else in your body. You want to be happy. You want to enjoy things. You want to breathe easy. You want these feelings, these lack of feelings, this numbness to be gone. You know what you are missing, but you can’t make it stop. You want life back. But you’re so tired. So very tired always. It’s just tiring in a way that is difficult to put into words. Getting out of bed is a struggle. Getting through the day is struggle. Smiling and making do for the people who you love, the people who depend on you is a struggle. Battling the depression is a struggle. And that is what it is – a battle. A battle that leaves you battered and bruised on the inside. No one sees your battle scars the depression leaves, but they are there. Not everyone understands that this is a long drawn out battle. A battle to get rid of the unwanted house guest. A battle to get through and out of the fog. A battle to regain control of your body, your mind. And a battle to keep depression from sneaking back in.
Every win feels less like a win and more like cease-fire. You don’t feel like you have defeated this depression for good. You have temporarily won a victory. Sometimes it is a long-lasting victory, but at the back of your mind it’s there. The knowledge that this is cease-fire. Somewhere that house guest is waiting to come back in. That fog of depression hovers somewhere in the far reaches of your mind biding time to roll back over you. The best you can do is try to make the most of everything until depression ends the cease-fire and it starts all over again.