Sometimes, depression is quiet. It is as silent and unmoving as a rock on the shore of a beach. Then the tide comes in. Then it is no longer depression, but anxiety.
But sometimes, depression is quiet. I liken it to living in a house full of water. See, when Anxiety is in the house causing chaos and breaking everything and hurting every houseguest, the flood is the last of my worries. But when anxiety is on vacation, the water is at my ankles, and it is raining in this flat. Depression sits in the corner, silent, unmoving, unfeeling.
At first it was just a mild inconvenience. I learnt to wade in the waters, finding joy in dropping bath bombs in the middle of my living room, but it is still there. A quiet inconvenience, it’s hard to move in there, I nearly drown almost every night when I go to sleep, I don’t want to be awake, I just want to be alone here in bed, I want to be dry. But anxiety is blocking the door, every time I throw water out the window it hits someone who gets mad at me, ankle-deep in a flood and then they dry themselves off and carry on with life on dry land, and the flood persists. But it is still just a mild inconvenience compared to what it could be.
Sometimes depression is quiet in the same way a storm can be quiet. I can’t go outside and they can’t come here. My room is warm, safe and going back to bed is far easier than facing whatever is outside of this safe space. Sometimes depression is the storm, sometimes I live in an aquarium- I can swim, but I can’t breathe underwater, and I’d like to be dry.
But sometimes, depression is not the storm.
Sometimes depression is an indoor flood. Sometimes depression is listening to rain on a Monday morning, needing to get up and do things that you just don’t have the energy to. It’s just easier, less mentally tiring than to get up. Sometimes depression is just a mild inconvenience. And sometimes it is just exhaustion from the storm.
Sometimes I don’t want to do anything, I don’t feel like going outside and spending time with people who care, I don’t feel like doing anything at all, I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanna be alone sometimes, but if I could choose I’d like to have someone in the room to keep me dry while I do everything that the flood prevents me. Sometimes I want to be alone in a hug, in a room listening to someone’s breathing, humming, anything- Anything but silence. Sometimes depression is quiet. And that’s all I hear.
Sometimes depression is quiet, as I lie back and listen to echoing silence, in an empty room, with hollow emotions and soaked sheets, and I dare to wish I could listen to anything other than the quiet.