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I think in images the best way for me to describe my depression is that I can see myself at the bottom of a dark well. The bones in my body are broken so, I can’t get out. I am screaming from the top of my lungs, but no one can hear me. The point of view shifts to the stones that make up the well and into the impenetrable darkness. Next, the viewpoint changes and turns into my hair so, I can get a full view of me and watch myself utter “No, I am fine. I am just a little bit tired. Once I get a nap, I will be fine” Except, I have been tired for more than half my life and there isn’t any real end in sight. I heard someone say in conversation that they hated how people claimed that they have mental health issues as an excuse for everything. It seemed so funny to me how little understanding they had. I suppose that is the case for most things. People can empathize up to a point, but their imagination can only take them so far for some things. Someone who has not been through it will not be able to understand how you can sit, laugh, and have a good time and then suddenly something in your brain shifts. Suddenly, all the colour drains from the world, and it turns into this bleak scene filled with despair. You are no longer of the world; you are just a witness to your own life. I suppose people that suffer from depression are liars up to a point but, not in the way that people might think. We lie that we are fine. We lie that we are just a little bit blue. We lie that we just need a nap. We lie that it has just been a long week. I can talk to anyone, and I will seem the happiest person on Earth. I will be engaging, and chatty, I will put the focus on you. I remember one day when I had intrusive thoughts coming again and again, up to the point where I had to voice them and simulate the action to soothe my brain. I had been crying for quite some time and then someone wanted to go on a call with me. So, there I went on the call, all smiles, to the point that there was a comment made about how chipper I was so early in the morning. I never realized how much of a poker face I had. I always wondered how people didn’t realize that I was struggling but how can they when I wear the mask of fitting in so well? The truth is that there is still a lot of shame in admitting that one is depressed. We are all meant to be happy all the time. Everything is meant to be just smiles, rainbows, and unicorns. “Only good vibes here!” We look at other people’s lives and what they project as their lifestyle, and we compare. We know we would want to be like that, but we don’t know how to get there. It isn’t a matter of faking it until you make it, it is a matter of hiding everything you are so people accept you. Everybody knows how to play the game apart from you. Even further, telling somebody that you have suicidal thoughts…watch the panic wash over their face as you realize that you have put a burden on someone that was not theirs to carry. I tried to think when all of this started for me. I can remember feeling alone, I can remember reaching out for connection and being denied. I remember wondering why I couldn’t be loved and soothing myself that it is fine, I don’t need anybody, that I will be fine and once I grow up, I will find somebody to love me. That changed into the certainty that people won’t like me because there is nothing to like. The strong feeling is that I was broken, and once people realize how broken I am, they will leave. Shifted again in the darkest times to think that I am so broken that I have broken other people. That they would have been better off by not knowing me. That I ruin everything I touch. My demons are always by my side, ready to agree with me. They used to be ideas chucked at me in anger by others, but now they live inside me, and they are my loyal companions. Internalized, bonded with every fibre of my being. “You are not good enough.” “Nobody cares what you have to say.” “Who do you think you are?.” The gang is all here, lurking in the shadows. I have always had problems sleeping. Staying up late and going over everything that I have done that day in my mind. Trying to remember every detail. How things were said. The words, the tone, the inflexions in the voice. Beat myself up about everything that I said, everything that I did, everything that I should have said. Going around and around and when I didn’t have something that happened that day, my brain had something from years ago that I could sit and hate myself about. Causing myself more and more pain for things that I could not change. Not wanting to be who I am, not wanting to be where I am. Just more shame. I have had weeks when I would skip a night to sleep a night. I would be too exhausted to sleep and watching the worst infomercials possible. Then, it would shift. I would feel like my body is full of led and I would just sleep for hours. I have had days when I prayed that once I fell asleep, I wouldn’t wake up. Trying to sleep my way through my existence, hoping that it would change on its own. Disappointment would hit the next day when my eyes would open. I have pushed down inside of me all the feelings and I have tried to keep myself busy. If I don’t have time to deal with whatever I am feeling, then it isn’t happening, right? I have started to prioritize everything and everybody above me so, that I can keep running from myself. I kept on following myself and telling myself all these things, tormenting myself with all my mistakes. Telling myself that I am weak and wanting and nobody could ever see value in me. Nobody can ever hurt you like you hurt yourself. I kept on asking myself what I was waiting for. What do I expect to happen? How do I expect things to change? They never did or if they did, it was only for a little while and I kept thinking that I failed for staying strong and not giving in. I allowed myself to be seduced by a moment of happiness that just got me back to where I was in the beginning. It always seemed that I had islands of happiness and then things would get back to the way they were. I had a period when I used to live alone and when I had a really bad day, I would go to one of the corners of my room sit between the wall and my bookcase and lean against the wall. This felt comfortable, this felt safe. I just mindlessly saw that corner and felt the urge to get up and sit there. One friend saw me one time and asked me what I was doing. I thought about it for the first time, then and there. What was I doing? I realized that this felt safe because three directions were covered and everything that could come at me would just come from the front. I would feel the need for connection. I would try to reach out and the people would just get further away from me. I had become convinced that people don’t just leave but, they leave me. I kept on trying, again and again, to just show people who I am but how effective was that when one does not have the power to stay myself without changing to who I think they want me to be? To stay around people and not filter who comes into my life but just hope that there will be more people staying. Feeling less connection than ever because one realizes that people put you in a box and they become very uncomfortable when you try to change, evolve, or get out of the box. One tries to find a cure. One tries to get away from it. One tries to look at how others have done it to try and escape the loop. For me, it took a breakup to put me in front of all my fears at once. Just the day before, I was saying that if it were ever to happen, I would not be able to take care of myself and then I had to. But that is a story for another time…                                              To be continued...

In the beginning, there was the lonely. Friend and foe all in one breath. It is always with me and shrouds me wherever I go. Not sure when it first appeared. I just looked around and there it was. Staring back at me. Just a visitor, at first, and then more and more present. Tormenting me with its mere existence. Eating away at me as the years have gone by. I remember being small and reaching out. Wanting to spend time with my parents but mostly wanted to spend time with my mom. Needing to feel loved. Needing to feel that I am connected. My parents smoked and they would stay in the kitchen. I would try and join them and be part of their conversation, but I kept being told that I was too young and that it was not healthy for me to be there. That I should go in the house and that they would join later. I would try and go back from time to time, and I would get sent away again and again. When my sister started smoking as well then it felt that she was in the club as well and it would just be me that would be left on the outside looking in. I remember that I would ask for cuddles for my mother, and she would cuddle me whenever she felt like it and then, she would tell me to go away when she had enough. I felt so rejected. I felt that I was asking for too much and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to spend time with me. I would always get more attention when I was sick but, it was always a matter of, having to prove that I was sick enough first. I had to have a fever to be taken seriously. I would get Mom’s one-on-one attention, and she would make my favourite things. To the day, unless I am collapsing, I tell myself that I am fine, and I can keep going. I feel guilty about calling in sick from work because I think that I sound fake. I remember being sent to my room again and again. I was considered a sensitive child. Every time that I was considered too much. I would have to go and be by myself. I had no idea how to deal with my emotions and when I got angry not only was I being isolated but, my dad would be triggered by it too. It is the old “I will give you a reason to cry about.” That just meant that instead of being taught how to deal with it, and how to channel my anger, I learned that showing anger is not safe. If you get punished for showing an emotion long enough, you tag it as being unsafe and you suppress it. You bury it deep down and you don’t deal with it. Either that or you turn it on yourself. One starts to punish oneself for having the emotion in the first place. Blame yourself for it. Start to believe that you deserve all of it. That of course no one wants to be around you. What do you have to offer? You are so weak. You are too much, and no one would ever love you. You start hoping for a saviour. Someone who sees you for who you are and rescues you from everything, but nobody ever comes. The only way to calm yourself is crying. Cry until you calm down and you can sleep. You have this feeling though that you are not a bad person. That if they tell you what is wrong, you can fix it. As a coping mechanism, I started to make up stories in my head. Not telling them as stories that have happened, no. Never divorced from reality. Never try to use them to get attention or try to become popular because of them. Just stories the way I would wish them to happen. Escapism at its best. That I would do something and suddenly they would start to see who I am and see value in me. You start to build this role self. This persona that you can be and if you become this person, they will like you. They will love you even. For me, it is a good girl. The girl that helps everybody, the girl that doesn’t say no and hides her desires. I started to believe that if I do the things they want, I will get the love I need. I started trying to be as best I could in school, get high grades, always do my homework, and work hard. I started to people to please, I started to overachieve, and I started to be hyper-focused on every gesture, every word, every reaction to try and figure out what I could do to be whatever people wanted. People like people that do what they want so, there goes the boundary setting. You do your best and when you don’t get a high grade, you get asked how other people did. You get asked how others do well, and you don’t. When you do well and you tell them that you have done better than those same people, you get told that you don’t compare yourself to other people. No rhyme or reason but somehow you are always wrong. You figure that overachieving is the path to take because they are quite happy when they tell other people how well you’ve done. They parade your grades and say to everybody about your awards, but you don’t seem to get more than that. Must not be enough. Try harder, do better. You try to celebrate things and every time you do my dad says that I am his smart girl, my grandmas are so proud of me and dot over how their smart granddaughter has done them proud. My mom just tells me that this is good, I will have time to focus on the next thing on the list. No time to celebrate, one must do more to get approval. Never satisfied with one's achievements, never knowing how to take praise. People ask me to acknowledge what I achieved and tell me how amazing I am. I get uncomfortable because I have a to-do list and no time to waste. I have started making friends and going out on my own to play. I made some friends, and I had fun with them but, again I am an emotional child. So much so that when I am being insulted and treated poorly, I just start to cry. That is all I know how to do. Standing up for myself has not paid off in the past. More so, I got either punished or rejected even further so, the only option is to cry and try to be their friend the next day. As one can imagine, that worked well with bullies. Nothing more fun than pushing somebody further and further until you see them cry. Maybe if you are nicer, they will like you. Maybe if you like them enough, they will try to get to know you. Try to understand you. That was what I always wanted. That is what I ever needed. I started trying to show who I am, and I kept getting told again and again that I should change this and that for people to like me. By this time, I am extremely introverted. I would go somewhere, and I would just want to be a fly on the wall. See everything, and hear everything but, to not have to expose myself to participating. I had real difficulty speaking in a group so, people started to make comments about how I hadn’t said anything in a while. Asking me if I had nothing to say. I had plenty. I had thought of so many things, I had read so many things, I noticed, and I made connections but being put on the spot rendered me silent. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be of interest. I start seeing friends stabbing me in the back and I can’t understand why and what I have done to them. I have kept their secrets. I have been reliable and still, they would be ready to sell me out in a minute for the people they like more. That brings on a new kind of loneliness. Being lonely in a crowd. Still rejected and still feeling like I am not good enough. Nobody tries to know me, but everybody has so many ideas about what I should be different. Now, people not only fail to understand but, they can hurt you when you least expect it. People-pleasing behaviour meets trust issues. I start growing up and dating. I start getting told that I am beautiful and maybe they will like me, they will stay. But they just take what they need emotionally and then they leave, as well. There must be something wrong with me if people keep on leaving me. Try harder, love them more, be more understanding, and don’t ask for too much. Don’t take too much space and don’t start a fight. Still, they go. They go and they come back, and they give you crumbs of happiness but, this is all you have known so, hope is your biggest enemy because I ignore the red flags again and again in the hope that they will realize that I am worth it. Savior behaviour, meet inability to let go of toxic relationships. The lonely reminds you that it has always been there. No matter how much you try and run. No matter how much you try and hide. No matter how you try to push away the feeling and pretend it doesn’t exist. Always following like a shadow. So many issues that come with it now. The gang is all there and all the voices in your head yell that you need to change. They are so loud and so scary, so many, so overwhelming. It has been going on for so long that I cannot soothe myself anymore. I need somebody to tell me what thoughts are right and what thoughts are wrong. To tell me if the decisions I make are right. If the feelings, I feel are right. I have always known that I needed help. I have always known that I need to make friends with the lonely. I have always known that I needed therapy. I mean not all relationships I have are bad or dysfunctional. Not all people have betrayed me. I have friends that I have known for 14 years, some that I have met along the way, and they are so precious. I am so grateful for all of them. There is nothing worse than having a problem or a success and not having anybody to share it with. Their support is invaluable to be able to show the parts of me that have been buried. One thing that I know though is that it is not their duty to fix me so, this is where the therapist comes in. We start with what we know. We start with what we see on the surface and then therapy will show me the rest of the way. I need to understand how it all comes together. I need to understand how I can accept and embrace the lonely. Make peace with it and let it go. There is no way we can inhibit this place anymore. There is no solace for me anymore as there never was. A deep breath and down the rabbit hole we go.