Depression is sorta like scoliosis. Everyone claims to have a minor case of it and people who truly suffer from it have a hard time making people understand what it feels like to actually have the respective ailment. Both have rules. Like if someone has severe scoliosis you don't knock them down, ever. You also don't make fun of them for their back brace or whisper about their overprotective mother who makes them carry a pillow in school to lean against in the uncomfortable chairs.
Depression has rules too. Rule number one. You never knock them down. Figuratively or literally. Rule number two. You never ask them why they're depressed. People with depression don't have any one reason for it. It's not a trivial thing that Dr. Phil or anyone else can really help. Most people don't understand why they have it, including me.
I have bad days and okay days. It's rare that I actually have a good day. And when I do, something comes along to spoil it. The good days are the days that I think, hope even, that things will get better. And then something happens or someone says something to me and it all falls apart. I fall apart.
It was on one of the bad days. The days where I pray to the God who doesn't exist, I pray for him to kill me. And he never does. I pray that someone will hear me screaming inside my head and no one does. I was in the guidance counselor's office, clicking a pen and trying to irritate her. Not like I had anything better to do.
She sat in the chair across from me, legs crossed wearing her khaki pants and her light blue cardigan with tacky cheetah print flats. Her glasses were horn rimmed and were the same color as her hair. Which, her fake highlights at least, seemed to be the same color as her skin. Melanoma brown.
"When I'm feeling depressed, I look in the mirror and force myself to say good things about myself. And then eventually I believe them." Her stark white teeth contrasted to her skin as she speaks. We'd been at this discussion for the past half hour. She said depressed like it's a feeling and not a plague that permeates your mind and your will to live. She said it like getting up out of bed isn't an effort for me. Much less saying good things about myself.
She said it like when I look in the mirror, it's not just to put makeup on to hide the dark circles and the pimples. Or to criticize my "curves". When I look in the mirror it's not so I can say good things about myself. It's so I can try to make myself look the best I can so that maybe when I see the skinny girls with clear faces and great hair at school, I won't want to rip my hair out and curl up into a ball and scream.
"You like drawing right?" I looked at her blankly. I used to.
"And you like clicking pens." Thank you Captain Obvious.
"Well take those colored pens," she said, pointing to the ones sitting in the cup next to me, "and put them in the bathroom when some paper. When you're on the toilet, draw. It's relaxing. You're allowed to take a break." Drawing with crappy pens on the crapper taking a crap sounds like a really crappy thing to do.
"Okay."
"You should go back to class now." There were only twenty minutes left, but her eyes were so optimistic.
"Okay."
She wrote me a pass. And I left, taking the pens. Who am I to give up a freebie?
And then I went home. I watched Netflix until I had to shower and then I went downstairs to make my lunch.
"Mom have you found any natural remedies for my acne? You promised you'd look them up."
"I've been a little preoccupied, Lydia. Besides we agreed you should start using your bluelight again." Here we go. The bluelight. The blue light that I'm supposed to rub on my face so my acne magically goes away. She bought that for me in eighth grade. I threw it away a few months prior to that day, I was a Sophomore. I didn't think I would use it anymore. And for the record, we did not agree to use the fantasy cure. She did.
"I think I got rid of it," I whispered, knowing she won't be happy.
"You what? How? Did you throw it away?"
"I can't remember." I clawed at whatever lifeline I could, knowing it was futile. I didn't care about much but my Mom. Unless I was in my panic modes, she was the true thing in my life that caused me anxiety.
"You better remember. I spent hundreds of dollars on that thing. You blatantly, flagrantly disrespect everything we trust you with..." She went on and on and on using more big words I didn't understand to describe how disappointed she was in me.
I filled my water bottle, silently taking the words that shot like bullets into my skin. The bullets I would always be stuck digging out with my bare hands and praying that someone would help me heal the wounds.
"She's going to pay for this one," she said, turning to my Dad who stayed silent. But when I looked into his eyes he was disappointed too. And that killed me. My Dad actually liked me although he never stood up for me. I was silently pleading for him to make her stop and he just stared blankly back at me.
"I'm going to bed." I walked up the stairs, trying not to dissolve into tears. Not wanting to give her that satisfaction.
The only thoughts running through my mind were how disappointed she was in me, how I would never be good enough or live up to their expectations. And as I fell asleep I wished I had the courage to end it, to kill myself. Because then at least they would be proud of my memory.
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140,178 Literary Works • 673,037 Reviews
Thank you for writing this.
Hi Gravity,
I am nervous about reviewing this because it is obviously a very personal piece. It also seems to be appreciated by some people already and I don't want to spoil that.
However, as an unbiased reviewer, this isn't really a story. I think it might be better placed in non-fiction or other. There is no character development, plot, conflict, or resolution. There is no movement and no change. It reads like an autobiographical piece, but it is very short for something biographical and lacks details.
In terms of general suggestions -
You should improve the grammar and punctuation here. Something like "Rule number one: you never knock them down." makes more sense grammatically.
You should clarify who is speaking here, and separate out the thoughts of the narrator from that of the speech.
"I looked at her blankly" is poor prose. Better to avoid the adverb and use a better verb than looked.
Should be it's not it. This is also a poorly worded sentence. I think it could be improved a lot.
The use of negatives in this paragraph made it particularly difficult to understand what you were trying to say. Try to avoid weak phrases like "it's not just". It's also spelt make-up not makeup.
Avoid weak adverbs like silently. Say something better like "I filled my water bottle in silence, taking the words that shot like bullets into my skin."
I thought this was a weak metaphor, and the preceding sentence was enough to get that image in the reader's head.
Anyway, to summarise, as I mentioned, this is more akin to a blog post than a story, and I think it should be moved out of fiction.
Jack
I appreciate your review but honestly, it was really harsh. Did I do anything right? Or are you telling me that the whole thing was crap?
@Gravity I think it' is a good start to an autobiographical piece - I can feel the narrator's emotions and the depression is well conveyed in the dialogue, and the thoughts, and the actions of the narrator. So that was all done well. But I would prefer it to be longer, and include some actual conflict/movement/change, or some kind of resolution/ending, because otherwise it doesn't have the emotional resonance you are aiming for.
I agree with Firestarter. I can't review this work because I can tell it is extremely personal. To be honest, if it were me, I would have posted this in the "Blog" Section of this site and just let others comment their thoughts rather than review it as a piece of literature. I can sympathize with you; I have struggled with depression as well. However, the word choice you used is much too colloquial (slang or informal in nature) for a literary piece. Try blogging next time! You're free to express your opinion without grammatical road blocks and it doesn't cost any points!
Thanks so much for writing this Gravity. Noone knows what depression really is unless you have been through it or you are going through it.Everyone goes through it differently,but it has the basic same idea:you feel like you are drowning in sadness. (at least that's how I feel)
Anyways thanks so much <3!
I love this. I know this is supposed to be a review, but whats the point? You describe depression perfectly; every detail in place. Nobody really realizes what depression is unless they have it. To them, its just a drop of sadness on their rainbows. I thank you for finally being one of the only people to understand how it is hard to simply get out of bed that day, how every time you even feel somewhat happy, somebody or something comes along and trashes your hope and your dreams. I have depression as well, it is on my medical records. My parents cause me so much anxiety and emotional trauma it makes me want to die sometimes. Yet I can't, out of fear of the unknown.
The thing about depression is people think that they can cure it by talking about it. What causes you to be sad? I don't know, please, just leave me alone.
They seem to think that if they put you on drugs, things will be happy and better. No, they don't. A drug isn't going to help you with an emotion. Its not going to erase the things people say and do to you.
People don't know a thing about depression, unless they themselves have it.
And you clearly seem to understand, and I thank you for writing this, it really helps to know I'm not the only one who really knows depression. However, if you ever need to talk or anything, you can just talk to me. I know what its like and I can definitely relate.
I'm sorry for ranting instead of reviewing, but like I said, this is just perfectly described.
I like how you started comparing it on a serious level, then explained it in a reality. Not enough people actually understand depression and ignorantly assume simply drugging someone is a solution. As someone who can relate to this it's an all round awesome story. It's sad how often depression is misunderstood. So many doctors therapists and counselers think all it takes is a drug or talking about your feelings, but have never experienced it first-hand to know it's not that simple. I don't know if this was a true story about you, or if you're actually depressed but you definitely do understand what it's like to be depressed. Hopefully your story is read by a lot of people that don't understand, and it helps them to realize depression isn't so easy to get rid of.
thanks and yes, I do legitimately have depression. It seems like you can relate
Yes I have had it for almost my whole life. First time I got severely depressed I was 8 next at 14 last time was late March last year just before I turned 21. Someone I was ready to marry, and move over seas to Europe for. Then she broke up and wouldn't say why or anything. I haven't been able to cope with any amount of stress no matter how little since then. Nothing that used to help me relax works anymore, I don't sleep almost literally. It's like once a month rarely twice. And I spend all my time either at work, with my little sister, watching anime or on here writing and reading to stay busy. Sometimes I do two at a time just to avoid having time to think about anything. Anytime I stop moving or working on something I get depressed. Usually ends in me breaking something of mine like a drawer on my dresser or a desk in my room, only thing I have been able to calm myself down with is going to the lake because I live less than 5 minutes from lake Erie in Cleveland Ohio. That usually helps, only other thing that helps is talking to others who actually understand what I am going through and nobody I know offline does.
Hi this is Falconer here to review!
First of all, I loved how you talked about depression being a disease at the beginning and all of it's various rules. Although it was a short story, you managed to make it meaningful and intense.
In the paragraphs where the guidance counsellor was talking about looking in the mirror, you used "she said" a lot. Maybe you should try changing it up a bit by saying "she described" or using actual dialogue between her and Lydia.
"You blatantly, flagrantly disrespect everything we trust you with..." In this sentence, I'm not sure if "flagrantly" is used right, but you probably know the word better than I do so it's your call.
Also, this whole paragraph is confusing: "I filled my water bottle, silently taking the waters that shot like bullets into my skin. The bullets I would always be stuck digging out with my bare hands and praying that someone would help me heal the wounds." What did she mean by the water feeling like bullets? The water in her water bottle? If that was cleared up, the rest of the paragraph would be better too.
Overall, I just really enjoyed reading this story and hope to read some of your others!
-Falc