Depression: Broken nails, Bloody fingers, and Bruised Hands

You ask me what is depression? Listen very closely. Here I am, laying in bed with my knees tucked to my chest, under the blanket, so dark that I can barely see my shiny pink nail polish on my fingers. Sitting in the darkness has become my hobby. Without darkness, the light burns my milky skin and allows others to see the dark circles that reside under my eyes. Listen to me very closely, for I need you to understand: Depression is a personal monster, forever lurking in the darkness, waiting to pounce.

Depression comes out in the middle of the night when the entire city is dreaming. He comes in your bed, shakes you awake, and stares in your eyes until the sun comes up. When the phone starts buzzing on the side table and you reach to shut it down, he slaps your hand away just for fun. When the buzzing stops, you try to sit up but his fist lands in your chest and knocks you back onto the bed.

Depression is tired. Endless school. Endless classes. Endless fatigue. Leaving class to cry in the bathroom. Constantly walking around with blurry vision and dry eyes. Teachers telling you to focus, but it is impossible. They do not know how your monster is. They do not know what he does to you.

Depression is social workers. Visiting the school social worker and having her tell you to breathe. You begin to breathe and then Depression sits on your chest. Then, seeing the other social worker and listening to her talking about the importance of drawing to express your emotions. You start to draw, but Depression smacks the marker away. You pick up a crayon, but he hits that one away too. Trying everything, but he keeps smacking your hand, so you stop and walk over by your bed. Standing next to it, he pushes you down. Feeling the mattress consume your body and the covers coming up over your head. Laying there, staring into complete nothingness.

Depression puts you in an endless pit of darkness. He pushes you down and you sit there all alone waiting for someone to hand you a rope to climb out, but no one comes because only you can see the monster. When it gets really scary and too dark, you try to climb up. You dig your nails into the concrete walls and try to pull yourself to the top, but nails start to crack and blood starts to drip. A couple of them fall off, but you keep climbing. You get halfway up and then he pushes you back down and laughs. You lay there. You lay there with broken nails, bloody fingers, and bruised hands. Soon, when too much blood is lost and the nails stop growing back, you stop trying and sit in the darkness alone.

When climbing out of the tunnel is not the focus anymore, people start to notice. When people start to notice, they ask questions. All you can tell them is, “I am fine.” If you tell them otherwise, they will ask more questions and Depression does not like questions.

Depression is watching life go by on a vintage television, but not being able to participate in it. Staring at the screen and watching kids from class in black and white smiling and laughing, but standing there with saggy cheeks and dark eyes. Starting to open your mouth to say something, but Depression says, “No, do not bother. They do not like you,” so you close your mouth and do you work silently.

Depression is silence. Days pass and you realize that only five words were said to your mother. Maybe two words went to your brother if it happened to be a good day. Listening to everyone else conversing around you, but Depression hangs on your back and wraps his hands around your neck to hold your mouth closed. Slapping his hand away and trying to talk, but he fights you every time. Soon, you forget how to talk.

So you have asked me what depression is, but you see I cannot give you a straight answer, for depression is much more complicated than that. I have been able to explain this far, but I fear that my time is running short. Depression does not like me to talk about him, and I know that he will return.