Depression - Personal Essay

"0.35 Points”

Am I what they would consider the scum of the earth? Even the thought of taking my first

breathe in the morning disappointed me. Depression, continued to sit on me. Everyday She

would force me to carry her whilst she continued to remind me of my failures, fears and

insecurities. She was a heavy burden, so heavy I started to see her on the scale.

If I had to explain what it was like to go through depression I’m at loss for words. But for the

sake of my testimony I shall do my very best.

            Imagine if you can, that, that which was once your passion became tasteless. Your love

ones become irrelevant. Life becomes ultimately meaningless and nothing makes you happy.

How would it feel to just exist in sheer isolation? In your own sorrowful world where you

wander the depths of the earth just waiting for death to dance with you.  Every morning as I took

my first breath, instead of being joyful of seeing another day. I thought it unfortunate that I still

existed. I wasn’t suicidal, my life was bought at a price, but I no longer enjoyed the taste of life.

And I often thought that if I could, I would exchange my life unto someone who had passed just

to give them a second chance at life, for I was certain that they would live life better than I

would.

            My only solace, my only sanctuary, the only thing in life that made me happy was my

bed. To some my bed would appear to be just a mattress, a combination of cotton and polyester.

But to me it was my living room, my dining table, and my fortress of solitude. In my bed I could

escape all my troubles if not for a few hours I didn’t have to worry about life. I didn’t have to

worry about my astonishing weight gain, I didn’t have to worry about my failing grades, I didn’t

even have to worry about my failing relationship with the love of my life. I could just be.

My mother had long noticed my illness and my weird infatuation to my bed and had sent

me to a number of specialists and doctors to ail my condition. I finally settled at a center where I

met with a Christian psychiatrist, Dr. Linda whom I got along with very well. And for weeks,

once a week, I would visit her and I would talk to her about my woes. It was a recurring

redundant cycle with me and Dr. Linda. She would essentially tell me what I want to hear.

Which was very caring of her, but my illness was not getting any better. As time went on, even

Dr. Linda herself offered to prescribe anti depression to help me get back on my feet. I don’t

know if I was insulted by her betrayal, or if there was some divine intercession, but the veil was

uncovered and I slowly but surely started to claw my way back into reality. As cliché as this

sounds, I literally took a long hard look at myself  in the mirror and I didn’t like how hideous  I

had become. I was mentally, physically, and spiritually broken. I was tired of crying all the time.

Whenever I was forced to leave my bed and go outside. I had to take a little container of Kleenex

and a bottle of Clear Eye Redness Relief from the high probable chance that something or

someone would make me cry. I use to be a beautiful, confident and smart girl and I decided I

want that for myself again. So I found myself in the ring with depression and I intended to win.

            I asked depression for my happiness back and she said “No.” So I ventured for joy myself