The inside needs out. Think about having another person living inside of your body. They don't pay you any sort of rent. They don't pay utilities. All this person does is drag you down. This person likes to live a messy lifestyle. Don't expect this person to clean up the apartment. They don't care at all. All this person wants to do is ruin your life and take care of itself. The name of this person is depression.
I personally have dealt with depression for the last five years. I remember around the time when depression decided to move into me against my will. I was about to go into my freshman year of high school. One should be somewhat excited, but nervous, about starting high school, right? Not at all. The latter parts of that summer before high school, I started feeling useless, as if I didn't have any sense of direction. Yet I still tried to fight the feelings of uselessness and hopelessness because I was so young. That's what I felt young people were supposed to do. Despite my efforts, I went into my freshman year on a downward spiral. Depression had started moving its shit into the apartment.
During October of my freshman year, I had reached an all-time low. I just didn't care about anything or anyone, much less even myself. I was essentially tired of living. Depression had grown bored in the apartment and decided to have a wild night to spice up its life. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face the night I tried to overdose on hydrocodone. She was heartbroken. I felt awful about telling her what I had done. What depression had done. Depression sure got its wild night it had been looking for.
From that night onward, I have been seeing a psychiatrist and taking different types of antidepressants (most recently, prozac). To say that these medicines and therapy haven't made a difference would be a huge understatement. Being able to voice my feelings and allow depression to come outside of the apartment for some fresh air every once in a while is nice, but yet, depression continues to want to live within me. Why doesn't the inside want out?
Depression is not an illness that is easily curable. Hell, it might not even be fully treatable. Despite all of my efforts and my family's efforts to make depression find a new home, it still resides within. Ever since that night back in October when I first saw how serious this illness is, I've tried to end my life once again and have had numerous thoughts about doing so over the last five years. I've created scars on my body out of hurting myself because I didn't truly care about my body, one of the only entities that fully devotes itself to me and actually loves me. I've lost a lot of strong friendships with people simply because I didn't really care about them. How can someone care about another if he or she doesn't even care about themselves? I've lost touch with my number one passion: music. I've devoted my entire life ever since the sixth grade to becoming a musician and making a living at playing guitar and being a producer. Depression clearly had something else in mind and wanted me to follow suit.
I'm still enslaved to the depression. It's as if I'm living inside depression's house. Depression is the reason I dread waking up in the mornings. Depression's the reason I don't get excited about life much anymore. Depression's the reason I keep to myself and don't say much to anyone. Depression is the reason I find it acceptable to be an asshole at times. Depression's the reason I get some pleasure out of a cigarette pack. Depression's the reason I stopped caring what others think. Depression, however, is also the reason I'm still alive.
Though depression is a reckless and unforgiving tenant, I've learned how to cope with most of its symptoms. Personally, I've found that surrounding myself around other likeminded people who can openly express how they feel allows me to let depression out of the apartment every now and then. It's also important to reduce the time you spend by yourself. Being alone with yourself also equates to being alone with your tenant. This tenant doesn't really want you to be happy or enjoy yourself, so you'll be tempted to think negatively if without company. I lastly believe that there is a means to an end. Battling one of the worst tenants or illnesses (however you wish to characterize it) surprisingly makes you stronger. Though you lose quite a bit to depression, if you're still able to wake up each day and try to find a reason to smile or laugh at least once, you're policing the depression. Finding these inklings of positivity may very well allow the inside to go outside in the end.
