You have 4 free member-only stories remaining for the month. Subscribe now for unlimited access

An Inside Look At Depression:What it’s really like to be depressed

I’m depressed.

You want to know what it’s like to be depressed? I’ll tell you.

It hit me on August 1, 2022, when I got the news my mother didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. She refuses to talk to anyone on the phone and won’t speak to anyone who visits the rehabilitation centre she’s currently recovering at after breaking her hip.

I haven’t seen my mother in three-and-a-half years, even though we live in the same city. And because of the promises she made and broke, I’ve spent those last three-and-a-half years in my bedroom.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend three-and-a-half years in one room?

My living room furniture was trash I salvaged to replace living room furniture that was destined for the trash. My cat didn’t like the smell of strangers on the furniture and pissed and crapped on my couch, my recliner and my living room carpet to the point where it’s now unusable. I’ve used everything I could think of to clean her shit off the couch and recliner to no avail.

So if I want to sit on my couch, I have to sit on shit.

Depression isn’t just mental. It invades and destroys all corners of your life.

I spent the last three days in bed, alternating between sleeping, crying and trying to distract myself by binge-watching “Manifest” on “Netflix.”

I haven’t showered, and I’m losing weight because I’m not eating. I know the first few pounds of weight loss is water weight, but all I’m consuming is iced black tea because I have no appetite.

I cry a lot. Almost every time I think of my mother, I cry. I have meds to help keep me calm. Still, I’m afraid to take them too often because one of the side effects is Tardive Dyskinesia, involuntary facial movements such as lip-smacking, involuntary movements of the tongue or grimacing.

I often forget to breathe.

Then I find myself taking in huge gulps of air, and regardless of reminding myself to breathe, I find myself holding my breath.

It physically hurts. I get chest pains, mainly on the right side and middle of my chest, so I know I’m not having a heart attack. I’ve been having these pains and worse for several years; once every few years, it feels like iron weights are compressing my chest, and I can barely fold myself in two from the pain. All I can do is try and breathe as deeply as possible and walk it off. The pain is so intense it makes me cry, and although it feels like it lasts forever, it’s probably only a few minutes.

I had a mini-episode of the iron pain, but at least I can be grateful it wasn’t as intense as usual.

I haven’t written or published anything since July 30, 2022, and my views and reads have taken a beating. My numbers dropped to what they were when I first began writing seriously in June 2021.

Although my work was mentioned in two people’s stories, the writer’s lifts did nothing to improve my numbers. It doesn’t help my depression to see such low numbers. But thank you to Kathy K and Lisa Mott for your mentions and support! My apologies to Lisa Mott she’ll have to wait longer than I would have liked for Part II of “The Culinary Killer” to be finished and published.

This piece took hours to write when I usually could get it done in half a day.

I have two options. I can either check myself into the psych ward, tough it out and save money for a few weeks for two nights at a hotel.

My tremendous thanks to those who have spent $3 on ko-fis supporting my work. Unlike others I’ve spoken to, my ko-fi earnings are doing as well as my current earnings; in other words, not well.

Last month was my best ever in terms of revenues. Then everything crashed, and it’s now up to me to regain my numbers. Maybe the goal of getting away to a hotel for two days will motivate me to write something new to increase my stats and earnings.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in Coming of Age, Culture and Current Events, Non-Fiction, Opinion Piece, Personal Narrative, Self-Help, True Story