As a Media/ Communications student, I have always been told to write
about 'what I know'. Sadly for me, that has been depression but I'd like
to know how others found unique ways of getting through daily tasks and
surviving depression. I wrote this P...
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As a Media/ Communications student, I have always been told to write
about 'what I know'. Sadly for me, that has been depression but I'd like
to know how others found unique ways of getting through daily tasks and
surviving depression. I wrote this Personal Narrative for a journalism
class , however, I hope that others can find similarities and
reassurance within it... A Sleepless Prison Experiencing true, euphoric
joy for the first time in years, I feel like a prisoner. Ignoring the
shred of razor wire, deafening howl of alarms and searchlights harsh
glare I make my escape into the ‘real’ world. A world where my senses
are awakened and my mind indulges guiltlessly in the joy of living.
Leaving behind my jailer, I revel in the smell of dusty horses and
leather, the silken softness of cats fur and dew-soaked mornings spent
wrapped in a blanket on the veranda, gazing out over the farm with
steaming coffee warming my fingertips. I live my life as a fugitive,
trading in a new currency of smiles and rationality I am rewarded
two-fold by the lit up gaze and benevolent grins I receive in return.
All the while I remain wary of my captor, lurking in my minds shadows,
waiting for me to slip and fall. My jailor, the one that has pursued me,
the one that has haunted me has a name, yet no body, a motive but no
soul. My tormentor is depression. Some people think that depression
numbs the mind, makes the rhythm of life flow in slow motion, but my
life became punctuated by constant thought. Although I didn’t wear an
orange jumpsuit, my mind was a cell and I occupied my time there marking
my faults like chalk strokes on the wall and peering through the bars. I
attempted to read the consciousness of others and procure what they
thought of me. How they judged. Constantly seeking the purpose in
everything, I found value in nothing. Unless something was a means to an
end, I found it pointless –fun was the first thing to go, overtaken by a
lethargic desire to simply ‘exist’ in a world that was no longer mine
but devoid of control. Like breaking stones in the prison yard, everyday
tasks chiseled away at my resolve and even minor criticisms shattered my
will like a sledgehammer. Sleep became an elusive prize, a battle won
only by exhaustion. Each toss and turn made morning an occasion greeted
by relief followed shortly after by the realization of another day
ahead. I awoke like a dog, exited by the return of his owner, only to
watch him walk away. I remember climbing out my bedroom window night
after night, tip-toeing my way down the path through a maze of pots and
rogue tree limbs and hazily pushing my weary body through the wires of
the back fence. A low whinny acknowledged my presence as I slid in my
headphones and shuffled into position on my horses broad back. Falling
off was nothing compared to the pain of being trapped in my razor-wired
mind so there I sat, the repetitive pulse of the music drowning out my
thoughts with only the moon to gaze down on us. He became my sole
confidante, never judging, never telling, only bobbing his head
occasionally to pick at the grass or shaking his mane as if to shake me
out of my turmoil. Climbing back into bed, the seconds turned to hours,
the fluorescent glow of my alarm clock mocking me as each minute flicked
by as a rearrangement of green bars on blackened screen. Such had become
my life –minutes past marking out tasks endured and taking precedence
over joys to come. I trudged on, trapped in the dreary monotony of daily
life. An empty shell, sucked dry of the colour and vibrancy it once
contained only to be replaced by the harsh purple shadows beneath my
eyes and grey cloud looming overhead. Coffee became as valuable to me as
liquid gold, a faithful mainstay allowing me to function just well
enough to divert suspicion that all was not well in my world. I had
become a master of falsified emotions, going through the motions of
social niceties. In a caffeinated daze, I would nod when prompted,
mutter hurried responses to queries and on occasion, force my lips into
a submissive smile. My eyes gave me away. No amount of concealer or
coats of mascara could erase the shadows beneath them or weary glaze,
even so, meeting the gaze of another proved my most difficult obstacle.
I felt like a nocturnal creature, emerging against my will from the
safety of darkness to a place where every glance was a threat and the
sunlight blinded me with its painful whiteness. Feigned enthusiasm and
an overt eagerness to please became my weapons of choice against these
perceived threats. I may have been the only inmate in the enclosure of
my mind, yet everyone and everything, my jailor warned me, were out to
kill. Superior to me in intelligence, looks and vivacity, my friends and
family became to me like a panel of judges. They sat condemning my
faults as the jurors watched on, my teachers, peers and neighbors
amongst them. Like acid burning away at my skin, the pain of scrutiny,
real or perceived, became a burden too heavy for my aching limbs to
support. Exhausted, I finally submitted to the probing questions of a
doctor, tears tumbling down my cheeks where constant streams had formed
well-worn furrows, their salty warmth a strange comfort. Medicated, my
world seemed suddenly calm. My pain was numbed and my captor
anesthetised but not destroyed. I started going to the gym, setting free
my body on the treadmill with my irrational fears behind me as
motivation –setting free my mind –albeit temporarily. Eventually, I
ridded my self of the tablets that had obscured my view of the world,
smothering me like a protective mother, too afraid to let her child
experience the world’s pains, yet preventing them from experiencing it
at all. I started to talk. As if learning to speak again –to connect
with another on a level that transcended the weather, homework or
superficiality –topics I had once deemed safe. I called friends for
enjoyment, to share in dreams, desires, daily highlights in place of the
cold drone of complaints and mental ailments. Most important of all, I
evicted my captor from his post in my consciousness, changing the locks,
one walk, one heartfelt discussion and one act of self-belief at a time.
Sunshine is no longer a taunting contrast to the darkness that once
shrouded my outlook, its warm rays permeate my skin, imparting their
uplifting vigor as they radiate to my core.
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