My depression looks like dark rooms with the curtains closed, and the lights turned off. The darkness lets me pretend that the unfolded clothes, overflowing trashcans, and full sink of dishes that I don’t have the energy to place in the dishwasher mere inches away don’t exist.
From the outside my depression looks like a completely full mailbox, a growing stack of Chinese food menus on my doorstep, and my car parked in my favorite spot for days, sometimes weeks.
Inside of my house, my depression sounds like triple locked doors, unanswered phone calls, and barely audible tiptoes to and away from the peephole when I actually bother to look and see who it is I’m ignoring.
After awhile my depression starts to smell like rotting garbage, the aforementioned unwashed dishes, body sweat, unwashed hair, and nicotine.
I feel as though I’m under a huge pile of soaking wet newspapers, because no matter how isolated I try and make myself, news from the outside world always finds its way in to make it a tad bit worse. I know what’s going on, and I definitely don’t want to participate.
Sometimes I fight to stay asleep but I’m too afraid of having to wake back up and get used to the sadness all over again. Sometimes I stay awake thinking about how miserable I am, and when I finally fall asleep from exhaustion, I dream of the feeling that is the dread of waking up.
So then I sleep all day, waking up to feel like a loser that slept all day, and then go back to bed hoping to feel better the next day.
And then it goes away.