Silenced Scream

“So tell me dear, what seems to be the problem?” My mother finished drying the plates and guided me to sit on the dining chair with her.

It took great courage for me to speak up and it’s sort of against my will. I don’t like the thought of sharing my burden towards other people; they have their own problems to tend to, so why should I share mine?

“It’s just, I feel down all the time and I think that I have depression.” I said with my head hung low.

I expected that she would understand because she assured me that she will; she’s my mom after all. But, I don’t think she understood correctly. She hugged me first before spitting out the words that I didn’t need at all.

“I know how you feel; I also get depressed at times but after a few cries and me-times, things get better. I just try to look at the brighter side of things and just say to myself that other people have it worse. Just think positive and things will get better.”

The moment she said that turned to switch in my brain ordering it to shut out humans; who else can understand you if your mom doesn’t get you in the first place?

She hugged me once more and asked me if I felt better. I lied with a smile and she just left me there in the dining room with only one light bulb illuminating the space.

You might ask why I didn’t explain any further if she misunderstood; ask yourself why you would bother explaining something towards a person who has a contradicting idea about it. It’s difficult to fill an overflowing cup with new knowledge especially if that knowledge is too unbelievable.

Depression is my worst demon, and its partner-in-crime would be my crippling anxiety. Best couple, if you’d ask me.

I have no reason to get sad everyday but I just do. Some moments are lower than others and some just kinda pop out of the blue. Like that one time when I and my classmates were having a hilarious conversation and it’s like a lever was moved in my mind sending it to sad-mode. My classmates would ask me why I got quiet all of a sudden but I just tell them that I’m fine. Why? One answer: anxiety.

The thoughts that thrive in my brain are the kinds like:

“They don’t really care about you so shut up and stop being petty.” (Which in turn will be answered with a) “You’re being selfish. Just let them care for you and stop being such a sissy.”

“You’re never good enough.” (Followed by a) “Well whose fault was that for not having any talent at all?”

“Other people have it worse than you; quit being such a child.” (Argued by a) “Your problems can kill you but you don’t seek for help? What a petty bitch.”

“You’re bothering people.” (Seconded by a) “Quit being such a petty bitch and ask for help.”

And many other kinds of thoughts. They all go in a loop of arguments and when the debate gets a little too chaotic, my brain blasts to shut-down protocol.

When it does, I just sit in my room against the door, completely devoid of the ability to feel.

Could you imagine what it’s like to live like that? Every single waking day you get greetings from your old pal depression and anxiety.

I distance myself from people to avoid contact, but then it looks like I’m fueling my illness, even if I’m not. I distance myself due to the fear of never being understood, due to the fear of being judged, and from other people’s viewpoints it seems like I’m doing it on purpose to get attention; even when I’m not.

I lost the interest to do the things that I used to love because of the thought that I’m just making trash. I’m just a sidekick. I’m not artistic. I don’t have talent; and many other statements. And when people tell me to cheer up and do those things, I feel terrible because dammit; they’re pushing you up but it seems like you drag yourself down; even if you didn’t want to.