Describing Depression

It’s a weight pressing down on me. It starts in my chest as anxiety before settling in my stomach. In many ways, I’m battling depression every day. But I only recall a few major depressive episodes in my life where I would say my condition seriously impacted my overall quality of life, making it hard for me to do basic human activities. And in those cases, I felt the weight in my gut and it lasted for months.

During these episodes, I don’t want to get out of bed. I can fall asleep at 8 p.m. and stay there until the next afternoon. I’m not catatonic but everything feels hard. My thoughts are fuzzy and all of it seems to be spinning around a void I can’t pinpoint or describe. Most things feel forced and it’s much easier to focus on all that's wrong with the world. It’s the other side of mania.

When I’m depressed, my thoughts back up on me and I compulsively start stacking them. My mind wants to catastrophize situations because it’s easier to keep digging a hole than figure out how to get out one. A lot of my depression is driven by fear. Mostly, fear of uncertainty and imperfection--things mania has a hard time understanding. When I’m depressed, I have to confront my flaws.

Unlike with mania, where time seems to speed up, depression can bring reality to a near standstill. Suddenly, I'm aware of just how long it takes to do anything. The finish line feels so far away and I’m so far behind that the best thing to do is stay home in bed. During recovery, I’ve learned to fight the urge by developing routines, even ones as simple as making coffee in the morning or taking a walk. The more structure I have, the less time I allow depression to trap me.