My earliest memories of being depressed are from when I was around 8. On a Tuesday lunch time my only two friends at school would go to choir practice. I would sit on the playground pulling tufts of grass from the ground, I remember genuinely thinking how hopeless It was that I had no other friends to play with, I would get home from school, go to my bedroom and tape the worst songs imaginable off of the radio, because that was my idea of fun. then I would listened to the same 3 CDs on repeat. These were: Blue is the Colour by The Beautiful South, The Mamas and the Papas Greatest Hits and the Spice Girls first album (Whatever that is called). I had run out of excuses to avoid social interaction by around the age of 9 so as any good liar does I learnt to politely decline invites a long time ago and by politely decline I mean create more elaborate excuses.
Over the course of secondary school and multiple significant and sudden deaths amongst my friends and family, my depression got significantly worse. I began to realise just how “bad” I had become at “feeling” emotion around the age of 16, During a science revision class a friend and I were called out of our lesson to be told one of our friends had died suddenly from a heart defect. I stood there like an emotionless lump not really knowing what to say. we returned to the class (unable to discuss what we had been told) and I just continued with my revision. with a (what I felt) was a “stern” look on my face. That evening I met my boyfriend told him what had happened and continued to stand there with that “stern” look on my face whilst he (who had never met her) looked like he had been punched in the stomach.
The problem with depression is, that people pussyfoot around you, not knowing what they can and can’t say like the minute they bring up some tragic moment from the past you will fly off the handle burst in to tears and jump in front of a bus, whilst cutting a line down your wrist with a blunt knife. People think I’m constantly miserable and alone. Like I’m in constant attendance of my own pity party. I wish they didn’t, I don’t mind discussing it.
I think I’m good at hiding my depression 75% of the time. Some days depression overrules my brain, some days I can put it on a figurative shelf until I’m alone. But what I do know is that my depression has shaped my personality and probably made my humour a little darker than some people want to endure. But I can’t just “Get over it” there’s nothing to get over, this is just me.
The Elephant in the room.