I couldn’t understand it. I don’t know if it was the drunken sex or the hangover or the travel or Amanda’s dad’s cultish procession or the thought of work in the morning, but something was terribly wrong with me. I lay still on my back, breathing very softly and slowly, and stared blankly at the white ceiling.
The feeling was deep inside me, and I couldn’t fight it; I was forced into submission and taken hostage by it. I could only just lie there and let it wash over me and let it consume me. I was its prisoner and if I cooperated maybe it wouldn’t stay too long; maybe it would let me go free. But if I fought it, it might stay longer just to spite me. So I let it take control and I lay there very numbly, hoping it would leave me soon and bother someone else.
But the most discouraging element of its presence was my inability to describe it. Sometimes an unpleasant feeling comes along and you can make it go away by watching a light-hearted film or reading a good book or listening to a feel-good album. But this feeling was different. None of those activities could rid me of it; I could only just stare at the white ceiling and let it inhabit me as long as it desired. I could secretly long for its disappearance but outwardly I had to be its gracious host.
Maybe this is what depression is, I thought. Ask someone to describe depression and he immediately can’t find the words. Maybe I was part of the club now. I imagined myself in a room full of people, and someone else with depression would notice me and he would look into my eyes, and I wouldn’t have to say anything because he would just know. And he wouldn’t ask me to describe what I am feeling because he would know that such is an impossible task. He would know I had the feeling inside me because I was one of his kind; I would nod at him, and he would nod back and he would smile, and I would smile. Together we knew what we had to go through; the journey was ours. We knew the ones who did not have the feeling inside them would never understand. We were all alone but we had each other and we had the feeling and that was all.
-A tiny excerpt from my forthcoming novel: Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?
616 notes