Sometimes I would like to say I’m sorry. To my partner. To my friends. But depression has a way of stifling, silencing my words, unable to be pronounced, never mind explained. Sometimes my actions speak louder than words, but that voice is false and if I could use my words, I would explain to you why.
Sometimes you see me snap at nothing. If I could use my words I would tell you I snap in frustration, exhaustion and self-protection. I snap because I’m reaching my limit and I cannot have more pressure added. I’d tell you there is turmoil in my mind, over doing what I want and what I feel like I should be doing. I’d tell you my depression winds me so tight, and so highly strung that asking for something outside my normal schedule creates an unjustified amount of stress. I’d tell you that I just want space, but feel wrong or guilty in doing so. I’d tell you being around people can leave me drained.
Sometimes I’ll lose my temper over what seems like a harmless pair of shoes on the living room rug. If I could use my words I would tell you that I don’t mind the shoes, more the disrespect and lack of team playing it symbolises in my already overwhelmed mind. I’d tell you I feel too much burden and I want to lash out. I’d tell you I know it’s unfair and often unkind. But I’d tell you the burden of a busy life creates resentment, which is all too easily expressed when I feel we are not on an equal team. I’d tell you my mind loves to play the victim and it’s hard for me to decipher what is justified and what is my depression overacting.
Sometimes I’ll give you the cold shoulder over nothing. If I could use my words I would tell you I’m having an internal fight, and not one I’m winning. I’d tell you I struggle to want our relationship. I’d tell you how scared I am, that these feelings may actually be real and not depression. I’d tell you that I don’t know why you want to spend time with me. I’d tell you I need to think logically about how you feel towards me, I’d tell you my default is to be suspicious of you. I’d tell you I talk myself off that ledge by thinking of all the reasons and justifications that you are genuine towards me. I’d tell you this is one of the biggest things I hate about my depression, the lack of trust I have in anyone.
Sometimes you ask me if I’m ok, I smile and say I’m fine. If I could use my words I would let these screaming thoughts escape my mouth. They scream no, I’m not ok, I’m lonely, I’m stressed, I’m scared, I’m tired. I’d scream I’m lost and I’m trying my best. I’d ask you for help, if only I knew what you could do. I’d tell you that I really, really want to express the words in my mind, but I don’t know how. I’d tell you I know that’s silly, but being open requires the strength to make those words coherent and I worry I will be misunderstood. I’d tell you how vulnerable it is to open my mind to someone, to truly be open.
Sometimes you see me fret, to the point of needing to be in control of everything. If I could use my words I’d tell you I’m trying to lessen the stress, for you and me. I’d tell you that I focus, with such vigor, on things with my negative mind. I’d tell you they bring me anxiety. I’d tell you I’m doing it for the benefit of everyone, I feel like I must take care of everything. To help you. To help me. I’d tell you that the thought of stress fills me with fear. I’d tell you I’m controlling because I want the best. I’d tell you I know it’s irrational, but to be lax would require too much from me. I’d tell you that the very though makes my chest tighten.
Sometimes I will be a blatant arsehole to you. I will ignore and avoid you. If I could use my words I would tell you I don’t understand why. I’d tell you I’m trying to work that out and please don’t give up on me. My depression revels in making me feel lonely, and it feels very justified in it’s actions. I’d tell you I feel comfortable in being so obtuse. And I’d tell you I hate that.
Sometimes you will see me having a great time, laughing and joking, the biggest smile, not a care in the world. If I could use my words I would tell you I’m really fucking good at putting on an act. I’d tell you I’m so uncomfortable, I feel like a fraud. I’d tell you it makes me question myself as to why I cannot be happy and ‘what is wrong with me?!’ I’d tell you I look at other happy people and self loath that I cannot feel the joy they apparently have. I’d tell you I want to be happy, but I can’t remember a time I was that care free to allow myself to feel ‘happy’.
Sometimes I’ll will express my love for you. If I could use my words I would tell you I know I love you, but I don’t always feel it. I’d tell you I’m still here hoping that one day I will be madly in love with all my relationship again, I’d tell you how sad it makes me to be able to see my relationships, yet I don’t feel them. I’d tell you that right now, in this numb space I’m trying to be kind to myself and not worry on what I should be feeling, rather I focus on how to feel again. I’d tell you it’s terrifying to be so disconnected from people I know I love.
Sometimes I’ll share my depression, I’ll let you peek at my innards. If I could use my words I would tell you I have depression, I’m not depressed. I’d tell you depression is shaping me and I do worry when or if it will leave me. I’d tell you it’s a frightening feeling to be trapped in your own mind when it’s so intent on destruction. I’d tell you the focus of my mind is wanting to be better, for me, but more for you. I’d tell how disgusting this illness is. I’d tell you how it picks the most valuable part of your life and strips it from you. My love and my self love. I’d tell you I know I’m wrong to be sorry, I didn’t choose to be ill. But I’d tell you I am thankful that I feel sorry, it tells me I do still care about you and depression hasn’t won.