Young Writers Society

Alright guys, so this is really personal and it sounds sort of rantish if you aren't into reading any of that. I was originally going to post this as a blog but decided against it. This is the one thing in my life I wish I could have changed, so I'm sorry if this sounds melodramatic.

Wide Awake

Depression and my personal experience with it.

I remember feeling happy. It wasn't that long ago, of which I can remember. The carefree ease of childhood that made it so easy to forget what others had to say. I was carefree. I had what I always dreamed of having. I had peace of mind.

But such things don't always stay with you. You can't be happy forever. Realization kicks in when you least expect it, at the worst times imaginable, and some cannot fight it. Some cannot say 'its okay, just keep trucking'.

I'm not one of those people. I fought.

Why waste ones life on all the bad things that occur? Why give in when there is still so much good left in the world? And is it really called depression just because I can't smile? I'm still fighting. I haven't given in. I'm still breathing.

And I don't want to die.

Yet even now, the pain works its way through me. Even now, though I fight and fight bitterly, I still find no profit to it. Its not as if I haven't ever thought about what I have as being depression. I used to know it solely. I understood it and took it in strides because thats the kind of person I told myself I wanted to be. Who cared if I couldn't smile, right? Not me. Not if I kept trying.

But tryings not enough. No... no trying has never been enough. If trying had been, maybe I wouldn't feel the way I do.

Depression. Its like a constant ache. A thudding, throbbing reminder of what the world has defined to be wrong with me. Thud. Thud. Thud.

And I don't want to be depressed. I don't want to feel like thats the word to describe me, nor my writings. My soul is in the pages I have put forth. My heart is so visible in the letters I scrawl that to think someone could so easily tear it apart comforts me all the more. Tear me apart. Rip me to shreds. At least it shows me that there is other pain than ache.

I remember medication. Doctors. The therapist. Anxiety attacks that got so bad I would end up in the hospital at 3 in the morning, uncontrollable, uncontainable. The pain was physical. It was pressing down on my chest. It was killing me.

But I don't want to die!

Thrashing, crying, pretending that I'm sane. Thud, thud, thud, and it repeats itself again and again and again. I'm running. I'm fighting. I'm trying.

I eat. Lots of food. I eat to feel better. I eat because when food passes my lips, its like I'm pushing out the pain even for a second. Replacing it with something sweet and good. Something that kills my body but makes me whole.

I fall in love like its my day job. I watch as little peaces of my heart get carted away only to be stomped on without remorse. Why love the fat girl? Why love the one who cannot love herself? I wouldn't if I were them. I would run away the first chance I could get. Yes, it's easier not to love what can't fully love you back. I'm only half a person after all. I'm only whats left when happiness is taken away.

Medication. I remember starting medication. Apo-Paroxetine. It made me calm. It stopped the thudding. I didn't feel happy and yet, I wasn't sad anymore. Lifeless.

But I was gaining weight. 10 pounds. 20 pounds. 30 pounds. 40 pounds. Mom was upset. She was scared for my health.

Cymbalta was the solution. It stopped my gain. It killed my anxiety. It made the thudding weak but... but not gone. I can still feel it. Its quick and rampant, whether strong or not, and with the lack of happiness, I find no solace from its deep, merciless talons.

Depression. I am depressed. I am void of happiness. I am afraid.

But I'm alive. I'm still breathing. I'm okay. Right?

~Dreamwalker

Ah, well first I must explain a bit. A few of my friends have had problems with depression. I tried as hard as I could to understand what they were going through, but, as you probably know, it's tough to truly understand. One can try to imagine, but if one has nothing to go off of, it's absolutely baseless. I started reading this, and there were lines that would hit me. For a split second, I could catch a miniature glimpse of what depression is like. Reading this was the closest I have gotten to knowing what my friends were going through.

Overall, I wanted more. I think that, when you're in the mood sometime, you should just write and write and write. You should expand on what you have. Something that I have to keep in mind is that people read much faster than I write. It usually helps to repeat a fact a few times in different ways.

I didn't like when you named the medicines. I see where you're going, somewhat, with the almost-stream-of-consciousness style, and you might use throw these words around a lot, but to me, it almost appears like a commercial. And this writing is better than that.

That was a great ending. Right?

Umm... Grammar.

It wasn't that long ago, of which I can remember. - sounds awkward

Why waste one's life on all the bad things that occur?

It's not as if I haven't ever thought about what I have as being depression.

But trying's not enough.

I fall in love as if it's my day job.

It's quick and rampant, whether strong or not, and with the lack of happiness, I find no solace from its deep, merciless talons.