Decipher

How do I explain this. Sometimes when I’m talking, expressing myself, it feels like my head will explode. Its very difficult to explain.

Its like it changes me every time. Depression. Every time it asserts itself differently in my mind, exploiting me. Trying to catch me out and fool me. Winston Churchill was right, when he said there was black dog on his shoulder. It is like having a presence hanging over you, always there, waiting, waiting to envelope you.

Every time I come back from it, I don’t know, it feels like I’ve changed, altered, and I should know, I’ve been depressed enough times. I always seem to feel more confident afterwards. When you get to the point where nothing matters, nothing seems to hurt you please you. That you don’t even care about your own existence and if you were obliterated into nothingness tomorrow you wouldn’t really be bothered. Not that it would be a relief, to be outside of life. It would just be something different. Something that meant I wouldn’t have to experience this emptiness inside of me because everything would be empty. And you manage to come back from that. Make your way back to normality. But you don’t really know what is normal anymore. You can’t quite remember how exactly you acted before, what your temperament was like, because all you can remember is depression.  I think you take something each time from the experience, or something comes back with you. There always seems to be a side of myself I discover each time, that has been hiding underneath all that paranoia and fear that I could only unearth when a part of me had been stripped away. The boldness and an assertiveness to do what I want a freedom to take risks and say what is on my mind. But sometimes I feel like I’ve come back worse. That my moods are too erratic, I’m a different person everyday. Or that one event, one moment can set me off. Where I can hear myself shouting, laughing or talking endlessly and its not me, I’m not in control and I can’t stop it. It scares me. I think I scare myself.

I don’t want to be depressed again. But it always comes when I’m happy, when I’m not expecting it, because I feel like I’m in a place where it can’t find me and haunt me. But somehow it wriggles and writhes itself through to me. And it happens almost in an instant. When I realise its caught me. And I feel like an idiot because I haven’t realised. But then I see the signs, not caring if I miss work today, not wanting to talk or see friends and family. I realise I’ve been in denial for weeks, months.

I don’t want that again. I will fight it before it gets me. And I don’t want to come back a different person again. A damaged, fractured personality that hides behind her confidence that she is now ok, she is happy.

Is she ever happy.

Or is her aggression, boldness, excitability just the manifestation of her desperation not to fall again.

How can I ever make it stop? I can’t. I’ve been told over and over again that depression is an illness, something that you have to live with. That it never goes away completely and will be with me my entire life. Fuck that. I will change. I will feel balanced.



My computer whirs and sighs on the edge of the bed. It is a noise I have come to associate with blankness. The noise seems to envelope me, wiping away my thoughts and creativity, to the point where I have to screw up my eyes for relief. Or maybe that’s facebook. Do I really need to continue to add witty and quirky posts just so people might ‘like it’ or reply with some bland text hyperbole. I hear a ‘ping.’ Shit. Someone wants to have a social communiqué with me. Why? They must want something, or my opinion. I doubt to ask how I am. Crossed legged on the bed, I pull the laptop toward me. Its Kelly, with a ‘Hey.’ I suppose I should answer I don’t want her to think I’m downright rude-even though as my friend, she is already well aware of this trait. I type,

         ‘Hi, how are you?’ I can’t abide text speak. There is no one who could ever persuade me that removing two letters from a three letter word to form r, or u, will somehow make my life easier. I’d much rather save the English language from falling into disrepute.

         ‘I’m ok. How r u?’

         ‘Fine.’ I reply. Wow. I’m very excited by this conversation. I’m so glad I took time out to connect with this important person in my life.

         ‘What r u up 2 @ the weekend?’

         ‘Go out. Dance. Drink. Sleep. That’s pretty much it.’

         ‘Ok. Can u?’

         ‘Can I what?’

         ‘R u ok 2 drink nw?’

         ‘nw?’

         ‘Now?’ Oh. She wants to know if I can drink. It sounds like concern, but what she is really asking is, if I go out for a drink with you, are you going to turn into a maniac and try to eat me? 

         ‘Don’t worry Kelly, I’m fine to drink. I’m feeling much better at the moment.’

         ‘I ws a bit worried bout it. I didnt knw if it wld make fings worse.’

         ‘It will only make it worse if its excessive, like anyone.’

         ‘Ok.’ I can tell she wants to ask me something. I usually can’t keep up with her, and she’s typed another question or she’s onto another topic before I can type a reply. Do I ask, and then scare her off with my reply? She obviously wants my permission to ask. 

         ‘Look, if you want to ask me something, I won’t be offended. Just ask.’ There is a pause. She’s still there. I can picture her sitting at her computer biting the nail of her thumb. Or tapping the keyboard wondering how to start.

         ‘I just wanted to know what’s it like when you are ill?’ Wow, she’s typing full words, she must be serious.

         ‘Do you really want to have this conversation now? Online?’

         ‘I thought it would be easier for you to talk like this.’ You mean easier for you, Kelly.

         ‘Ok this is my newest metaphor. I hope it makes sense. Its like driving a car. A very temperamental car. A car that refuses to go into neutral.’ I pause for dramatic effect.

         ‘Go on.’

         ‘Sometimes the only gear I can get into is fifth. That’s when I’m hyperactive and impulsive and going at a hundred miles an hour. Then I’m stuck in first and getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself because things won’t work in my mind the way I want them to. And everything is slowing down. And then I stall and I’m stuck in the middle of the road not going anywhere.’

         ‘That makes sense.’

         ‘Are you sure?’

         ‘Yh, honestly it does. Obviously I dnt knw wht its rly lyk but, u knw?’ 

         ‘Yeah, I do know, and I hope you understand that going out and having a laugh with you guys makes me feel normal, like I’m in neutral for a while!’

         ‘Im glad u explained it abit more, I wasnt rly sure how u felt : )’

         ‘Well I’ve got to go now, I’ll see you at the weekend.’

         ‘c u, x x’ I give online conversations one thing, they’re much easier to cut short when you’ve had enough. I go offline and shut the laptop down. On the other hand, I have no idea how Kelly has taken my explanation. She could have been pulling gormless faces at the screen whilst she tried to figure what the fuck I was on about. Oh well. I think this is one of those situations where I will never know how people actually feel. Mental illness casts a haze over everything. Especially over people’s perception of honesty. If friends say they understand, and they’re ok with everything, they believe this is better than an honest question, an assumption is better than actually knowing. They think its better for you.

         I need to get away, just do something, something extreme, spontaneous to sort my head out. All this angst is doing my head in. I am watching my feet, plodding one after the other. My trainers are white with pink laces hastily tied and tucked under the tongue of each shoe. I am not looking forward. My head is heavy and tensed, bobbing with the regular motion as I walk.



I see depression, mental illness, whatever label you want to give it as a journey. Not however, a journey with a definitive destination. It is as I see it circular for the most part. For some it is a short walk around the block, for others a trip around the world. The journey may last a few weeks, months or years, it maybe banal, a walk to the shops and back or a rollercoaster ride through continents, but eventually they always end up in front of that same door. The path behind them has melted away, shrouded and limitless. Like Super Mario as he runs across the blocks that fall as he touches them and disappear into a bottomless sky. You can’t go back, just plough forward.  You can’t turn back you have to go through that door when you reach it. No matter how long you struggle against it, ignore it you have to open that door and embrace your new home.