Depression is a disease, a sickness, a state of mind. It can change who you once were. It can make you do some things you would never have done before it entered your life; although some were born with it, and know no other way. It can destroy friendships, relationships, and dreams. No one is invulnerable. Everyone feels the chill of its icy fingers around their neck once in a while, but for some it is a way of life, something he or she has to learn to live with, or perish. In my lifetime, I have seen too many of my friends, some I barely knew, some I wished that I had known better, kill themselves rather than sit alone in a bubble day after day, and watch happy people walk by, and wonder why not me. What did I do to deserve this–this vacant life, this misery? These are selfish thoughts, even detestable to themselves. The world had suddenly turned inward, threatening them with extinction if they cannot adapt. It is after all self-preservation. To think first of themselves is only human, even if it translates to self-loathing. They are dying, and grasp at the last threads of hope before they can no longer imagine any future, real or otherwise.
A friend who had suffered severe depression, and tried many different remedies including shock therapy, where they plug your head into a machine with wires, and run electricity through it at different levels, gave me some advise. He said that the brain is an organ, it can get sick just like any other organ in the body, and so you should not balk at taking medicine, or trying physical measures to cure depression, which in essence is a disease, an illness, or injury to the brain. The interesting thing about the brain that does not appear applicable to other parts of the body that are sick is that the brain can receive stimuli from non-physical means, such as psycho-therapy, but generally this takes a lot longer on some people than using a combination of medical, psychological, and physiological methods.
“Get help,” Evan warned me. “Before it is too late.”
“Do I look that bad?” I asked. “I mean is it obvious? Do I look depressed?”
“To someone you just met, sometimes, but to someone who has known you a long time, yes.”
“Wow. No wonder people have been giving me a wide berth lately. I must scare the hell out of them, I feel awful.”
“Why are you so resistant to getting help? to taking medication?”
“I can’t explain. I just can’t get help right now. I can’t.”
“Why not?” Evan sipped his coffee and stared at me over his black frames that had slid half way down the bridge of his aquiline nose. Why are some men more beautiful than others? Hell, Evan was prettier than some women I knew?
“I just can’t.” I laughed. it seemed inappropriate but I couldn’t help but think he would make a beautiful girl if he grew out his hair. it must have been the depression making me giddy.
“So you like being depressed?” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across this chest.
“I won’t put anything inside of me that will change who I am. I don’t want anything to interfere with my creativity, with who I am. I have seen what it does to my clients.” My heart was racing. He was getting to me. I wanted him to take me home and–
“Horse shit.” Evan picked up his coffee and took a deliberate sip. He slurps, I thought. How repulsive.
“Do you still love me even though my smile doesn’t reach my eyes anymore?”
He stared at me for a long time, then he took another sip of his coffee.
“Horse shit,” he said.