Depression Is Not Romantic: It Sucks

Dear Insane Minds,

A few days ago I came across an article that talked about depression and I said to myself “this article represents me” and I realized how little I have written about a process that, whether I like it or not, has gone through my life since it reached me. the memory.

I don’t think I have written because with depression I do like with reading glasses or keys: I leave them out there as if I would never use them again, when it is obvious that I use them constantly and I don’t even want to stop to think how many hours of my life I’ve wasted looking for the damn reading glasses or keys.

Well, it’s the same with depression: once I get over it, I start to live life as if it were already, as if that would never come back. I’m exaggerating, let’s see: I go to therapy and do my things, but once it’s done, that’s it. I tell myself that it will never come back and I turn the page.

Until he comes back and I find reality in my face, thinking how it could have come back if I had already solved this and had already stumbled on this stone and I had already looked for solutions so that it would not happen to me again. Well so.

Overall, I have told myself that it would still be good to write something from time to time, and here I am, writing about depression at the user level.

One of the things that I find most difficult to make people understand is that depression is not being sad, but being inert. You are left without life, as if hanging in some strange place that neither palante nor patrás, a place where nothing matters, where nothing arrives, where there is nothing, only noise.

You are not, but you are. In depressions, in mine at least, there is sadness, but that is not what defines them. In many other moments of my life there is sadness and it is not by far a depression. It is not about the intensity of sadness either, it is something else.

Being depressed is a kind of bottomless and hopeless apathy. A kind of apathy with a background noise that does not shut up. Like having eternal works in your head and in your guts and not being able to get out of there.

When you start to come out of the hole and you start to verbalize where you have gone, people look at you with concern. Why didn’t you call me to tell me?

But asking a depressed person why they didn’t call to tell them is like asking someone who has broken their leg why they didn’t “rush” to the hospital.

Calling on the phone and asking for help is out of my world in depression. From the hole to call anyone, or explain to anyone, or see anyone, or ask for anything is out of frame. I call when I am falling, and I call when I come back out, little by little. But from there there is no telephone that is worth.

Therefore, the environment is important. Because the environment has to be attentive. If a colleague disappears for a while, and we know that she was lazy, and we know that she has lows … let’s not wait for her to call us.

You have to go, check, mount a small group among your friends to be attentive and arm yourself with patience to accompany. It must not be easy to accompany me when I am like this.

My head infinitely centrifuges the same ideas and I am made a few foxes. It is not easy to live a depression and it is not easy to accompany it.

And now that I say this, I remember another reason why I do not write on this topic. The myth of the tormented writer, the romantic myth that manages, I don’t know how, to embellish writing and embellish depression.

Writing is my lifelong girlfriend, my great love.

But she is a heavy girlfriend. Wonderful and heavy, demanding, selfish, possessive. Writing is not always being in a state of grace: it is often being in a bad mood.

Depression is even less poetic, because it’s not funny at all. Depression is not romantic: it sucks, it is very hard for those who live it and for those around them.

Writing gives everything a mythical aura and depression does not deserve to be mythologized at all. That is why I do not write about it. But silence is not the solution either …

Happy week, Minds!