What depression feels like

Are you really it?

You can’t tell for sure, because the voices get mixed up. They become intertwined like the threads of a rope and you can’t tell when the rope ends, if it ever does. Nor can you tell where it really begins, either.

You’re rather unsure whether any of them are yours, or the opposite. All of them are. But they’re so contradictory you can’t quite tell. One of them tells you to eat, the other says to starve. One says to go to sleep, the other says to stay awake forever. They can never make up their minds.

I stare into the mirror and something stares back at me. It stares deep into my soul, trying to pry out answers for itself, but it never quite reaches to where the thoughts lie. They’re very hidden, just so the world doesn’t know what they are.

I hide it behind a jail of teeth and laughter.

My acquaintances are none the wiser. Why would they need to know, anyways? Isn’t it better to be blissfully oblivious in this case. The truth hurts too much anyway. I can’t even face it myself.

Everything flies by me. Noises jumble up in my brain and come out as mush on the other side. Is there even another side? Who decided god was always going to be there for us? He obviously has favorites. Everyone can tell.

Your shadow tells you things no one else must know. No one is allowed to know. It’s a secret between me and it. That doesn’t mean I believe them. They’re so farfetched and so utterly preposterous that even the idea is absurd, but the shadow is very persuasive. Almost too much so. But you keep your mind guarded from these fabrications and keep your own mind, unless it decides its had enough and lets its guard down for something to penetrate it.

The shadow is very patient. It knows no one believes you, and it feeds off that. It’ll only hit you when you’re vulnerable, and you savor its attention no matter how much damage it has done to you. You always have to run back. Because what if this shadow is more familiar than you might think?

I see myself in a metallic reflection. I told you the shadow was very persuasive. I’m not sure how I got here.

I’m a coward though.

I never fulfill my job given to me from the shadow. It tells me I’m a coward, and I believe it because my brain had enough, and went on a break. It’s gone and it left you salty thoughts and messed up tears.

You don’t remember when it started. It almost feels as if it has been like this your whole life, but you know that’s not true. You know it was better once, you just don’t know when. Memories fade in and out. Some are made up while others are too real. You used to believe in what you say, but now you’re skeptical, afraid even, of what you have to offer. You tell yourself that it’s a lie, and it tells you you’re seeking attention. It knows how to get you like that, so you stay quiet again. Afraid. Afraid of where you might go if the world found out.

Now, are you really it?

There is no other explanation, you have to be. No one knows you that well. But then why does it always tell you things you don’t want to hear? The voice is always there, but there’s no one tagging behind you. Your shadow is though. You assume that’s what it is. No one knows you better than your shadow.

Except for you, of course.

I trusted someone. That person didn’t trust me. The person fed me lies about the people I came close to and tried to do what my shadows tell me to do. I stopped them. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have.

Do I sound crazy? Do I sound absurd? These thoughts are put together from a broken mind, so I wouldn’t see how it would be understood. But there is a method to my madness, no matter how deep you have to dig. Everything fits together like a puzzle, you just have to find the pieces to put together. But some of the pieces got lost on the way. So maybe you’ll never see the full picture.

The shadow stares at you from behind. You know it is because you feel it. And you hear it. It tells you falsehoods that are all too real and it knows this, so it feeds you more. It feeds you more and more until you combust and a hole opens up underneath you. It swallows you whole as you fall into a spiral and you can’t get yourself out. You scream for help but no one hears you. Or they choose not to hear you. You see eyes that judge and you know they hear you, you just know it, but they don’t believe you. They think you’ve gone crazy, psychotic, fit for a clean white space for people just like you, but you beg to differ. Or do you? You can’t quite tell. You’re busy getting sucked up by the vacuum of space.

The shadow has convinced you no one cares. And it’s right. Because it’s convinced you. You have stopped fighting with your shadow because you can never win a staring contest with the sun. It’s impossible. Unfathomable. If only there were a chance to begin with, maybe you would’ve won.

You’ve come to a realization. The shadow has no mouth. How can it speak to you? You ponder this and assume it’s because it’s in your head. It always has been, but now you’re even more unsure where it’s coming from. No one else knows you better than your shadow, but who is in your head? Maybe a bug crawled inside one night and told me all his thoughts just for the fun of it. But the bug wouldn’t know me very well, either.

You know yourself very well though.

You’re not sure how that’s relevant, but you pick up the thought from the road and place it in your pocket. As a lucky charm.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. But what if that wasn’t the case? Maybe the horse wasn’t thirsty. Maybe the water was poisonous. I know the horse knew something was wrong, it just couldn’t tell what.