If a lot of the people who knew me (family included) knew that I took antidepressants and caffeine pills just to get out of bed every morning my life would be a lot different.
Mental illness has a lot of stigma attached to it but, that’s not the reason I don’t tell people about my depression. I’m not good with pity or worry, I don’t like people worrying about me and I don’t like people feeling bad for me.
I spend about 75% of my time on auto pilot, I do a lot of things without realising, luckily most of waking life consists of repetitive tasks, but whilst some things are monotonous some things, for me have just become reflexes. An example of something that has become a reflex is to answer the question (and its variants) “Are you ok?” With “yes, I’m fine.” Some people are good at expressing their emotions and some people are not. I being one of the latter, like to mask the fact im not ok simply because If I was ever asked “why aren’t you ok” my answer would be “I have no idea.” Then I would most likely crumble to a ball on the floor in the foetal position and be silent.
But more than that, I have to hide my skepticism about an abundance of the people in my life. I can’t help but question some people’s motives, I know they have no connection to me and probably have no real interest in me beyond their own selfish means. The difference between these kind of people and the contrasting group of people who actually care about me is that those who do care talk with some sincerity, where as those that do not care, are like those little voices in the back of your head that tell you jump when you’re at the precipice of the cliff of sanity.
The Elephant in the Room