Wednesday, October 12, 2011

This guy I know, Depression

I don’t like him at all. I panic when he turns up, bringing along an oppressive lack of air and a dark cloud which hangs overhead for the length of his stay. When he comes to visit we usually just hang out together, quietly. Sometimes, mostly while I lie awake at night waiting for sleep to arrive (sleep’s always running late), his pessimistic whispers make me cry. At any moment he can turn nasty; he’ll suddenly attack me, trying to suffocate or drown me, leaving me gasping for breath but, hypocritically, wishing he’d been able to finish the job. I never know when he'll snap; I can never relax when he's around. When he’s grumpy, he’ll point out heights, knives and pills, and make gory suggestions. He hates me. He wants me dead.

He introduced himself many years ago, when I was a teenager, though I only found out his name in 2009. It took me a long time to notice that he showed up even when everything else was going well; that there was a difference between feeling sad and the added weight I felt when he was around. Though we’ve spent many hours together, I don’t miss him at all when he goes. Last time he left, after a particularly long and vicious stay, I watched the remnants of his cloud disappear and then celebrated for months and months. I thought he’d gone forever that time. I thought I’d conquered him, proved to him that I was stronger than anything he could throw at me, forced him to find someone else to torment instead. 

But he’s come back, angry at my arrogance and scoffing at my naïveté. I’ve set up a bed for him, but I’m scared to ask for how long he’s planning to stay this time.

I hope he’s just passing through.

The photo's from here.

1 comment:

  1. I'm sure he's on his way least I'm praying he is.