Day 3 – Narrowing It Down!

by Owaiz

how i feel right now


These posts are not only a part of the 31-day writing challenge, but also the #intentionalblogging challenge. I’ll try to keep up with both. The email I got from Jeff today was about giving a focus, subject, and theme to your blog. My blog will remain a personal blog, but if there’s anything I will focus on, it will be depression. Since my own struggle was difficult and continues to be, I’d like others to get a glimpse into what it’s like, so they can understand better; not that they will ever fully understand it, unless they have depression as well.

“If you have ever lost a loved one, then you know exactly how it feels. And if you have not, then you cannot possibly imagine it.” ― Lemony SnicketThe Bad Beginning

I read the aforementioned quote once. Back then, I thought it was wrong. I knew I had a wonderful imagination and I could picture the best and the worst. I had a list of people I loved the most. Up until then I hadn’t lost anyone in my life, so I imagined what it would be like. The thing is that when you imagine, you can evoke feelings too. You can actually feel it and see it happen. I can, at least. So I imagined the death of the person on top of that list, from receiving the news to the aftermath. I couldn’t imagine a life. I thought I’d faint or have a breakdown when I’d get the news of the death, cry my eyes out, not eat or drink anything, stop talking, and end up a zombie. Unfortunately, 22 months ago, that very person died. It’s what I call the first death in my life. It was the first time a person I knew so well, so personally, was loved by and loved so dearly died. When I got the news, I had no reaction. I was standing with my friends and I ran away. It was all I could do. When I got there, I couldn’t cry. I had to force a few tears out. When I went home, I refused to eat, but I hadn’t eaten all day and was famished, so I ate something. And then I couldn’t talk about it. I still can’t talk about it. I still can’t say that person’s name. I can’t think about it personally and block out all the feeling. The death sent me spiralling into depression. I didn’t take any anti-depressants. The person I loved the most left me, and left me with nothing but pain. But that pain was very personal. I knew that I wouldn’t be making any more memories with that person, that the person wouldn’t make me feel good or bad again, that I’d never be able to do anything for the person again. It killed me, pierced my heart and soul, every time I realised that I would never hear the person’s voice again. I’d never hear the person call my name, in the sweet way the person called it. I’d never see the person’s beautiful smile again, or be able to touch them. Everything killed me. It was all too painful, but pain was all that person left me, so I couldn’t numb that pain. I knew it was the last thing I had from the person, so I chose to feel it, every bit of it. It was excruciating, and I suffered, but I felt every bit of it, because it was all that I was left with. It changed me and the pain faded slowly, very, very slowly. I started waking up in the middle of the night, had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to that person, had to call the person and warn them. I would reach for my phone, but immediately realise that the person was already gone. I would die again. The pain would start all over again. I had to live that nightmare for over a year and a half, until I desensitised completely. So, I was wrong. You don’t know what it is like until you’ve lost someone.

It’s the same with depression. You don’t know what it’s like until you have it. You can’t possibly understand the feeling of being doomed, the wish to die, the desire for peace, the lack of energy, the hopelessness, the lost will, or anything else that comes with depression, until you have it. I now classify people into two categories:

– People who have depression

– People who don’t have depression

With the latter, I don’t bother explaining. All I can tell them is that I’m fine. That’s all they want to hear and that’s what they can understand, because they can’t possibly understand it even if they try to. But what they can do is try, and be there. We deny it. I deny it. But, somehow, when I look back, it matters who was there and who wasn’t. Don’t cling to us. Give us space. But, be there. Support us. Tell us it will be alright. Don’t tell us to be positive and hope. Look up the meaning of the word ‘depression,’ and you’ll understand that positivity is impossible. It is impossible for me. I write ebooks and I’ve made it very clear to all my clients that the one topic I will not write about is positivity.

The image attached to this post, or one very similar to it, used to be my display picture on MSN about 8-9 years ago. It was cool and I liked it, but I never understood it. I understand it now. It makes sense now. This is why people with depression can’t really describe how they feel. We don’t feel like this stupid line. We just feel weird, meh! And just like that, all those stupid profile pictures started making sense, like the ones about the pain behind a smile and stuff. Also, I woke up super tired because I couldn’t sleep. I’m still tired. I haven’t done anything at all, but I’m tired. Happens when you have depression.