I’ve always been an emotional person but this depression is a first. It is emotional torture so powerful it takes on shape and form yet is still effervescent and fleeting. Impossible to grasp. You cannot tear it apart, throw it away or smash it against a concrete wall.
I feel stifled. My breath is insufficient to nourish me. My throat is dry and painful and my eyes feel like they are permanently swollen. My tears hide under my lids but come flowing unbidden and without warning. They flow after my chest feels a tightness, a constriction that caused my stomach to churn as if I had ingested something rotten and have to retch. The sadness feels like a second skin, with an adhesive so strong I feel like rubbing myself raw to clean myself. Sometimes I scratch my face and head so vigorously I feel like I am going to literally tear myself apart. The pain is soothing compared to the embrace of frustration. Its like an itch that you cannot scratch but this time it is a pain you cannot soothe.
There are days when I have to lie down on the cold tiles of my bathroom floor because it soothes the searing heat of my body. Sometimes I feel like tearing my hair out because it feels tangible at least, something concrete to grasp, something real to battle. My muscles complain as if I’ve been working out for hours even if all I’ve done was try unsuccessfully to get some sleep. I feel stretched out like an overtuned guitar string.
In the mornings, my heart pounds frantically with a terror I cannot explain. It is so strong I shoot straight up and jump out of bed because I fear that if I stayed lying down it would choke me. I need to shake my extremities to get rid of the pins and needles that send warnings of their arrival. There is a pressure in my chest that grows. It is like air pushing down on my lungs instead of through them. I could almost hear screaming in my head, there is that incessant droning sound.
My eyes feel so tired and heavy lidded all the time. I look out through them with difficulty. It feels like a white veil has been put over them and sometimes things take awhile before they register before me. I have to blink and close my eyes several times before the blinding brightness goes away. And when it does, I feel the stickiness left by tears that I must have shed even while I was asleep. And when I look in the mirror, the image is distorted. I can see every single flaw in my face, the unflattering curves and bulges on my bloated body and I feel like collapsing inward. I am constantly on the verge of falling asleep but don’t really get to sleep. I know because after 5 hours of sleep I wake up feeling even more tired than ever.
My taste buds seem dead. It is tiresome to even eat but I do anyway. I eat a lot because it breaks the monotony. Something else that enters and exits my body other than poisonous thoughts. But everything tastes the same.
Everything feels wrong. It feels like my body is not my own and I watch things hovering beside, behind or above myself. I fidget a lot and pace, as if moving would shake off the choking sadness the way I could shoo away a pestering fly. The thoughts come in and out of my head and they irritate me. Sometimes that is exactly how it feels, like an insect fluttering about me with that grating whirring sound of little wings. If I could I would put my brain in my hands and handle it like I would a ball of clay, pounding it tightly until it was packed, solid and hard then throw it through a sheet of tempered glass.
I am a writer but my words fail me. One must experience to understand. Am I going insane I wonder? I do not know. I know nothing. I feel everything. I want it desperately to stop.