a bad day

Today is a particularly bad day. Why? I don’t know, it just is. Another day to put a happy face on and pretend. Is it because it’s Christmas? Is it because yesterday I put all my enthusiasm into decorating the office, and we all enjoyed it and now I’m spent?

And how does one not be spent? How do you stay in that high that comes ever so occasionally? Life would be so much more convenient that way. Life would be so easy.

But it isn’t. And invisible illnesses like these will take you nowhere but down. And because noone can see them, they think you are cold and standoffish.

That isn’t me, at least not usually. But how do I explain that to those around me, that this is a momentary thing? Something I struggle with on a regular basis. The friends who don’t know are the hardest to be around. Strangers don’t ask why you’re puffy faced on a bus. Friends do. So you’re caught between trying to look normal and trying to be honest. When someone is around, I can’t do what I usually do at such times. Nor can I giggle and sound chirpy, because god, it’s so difficult.

That is why sometimes I sit next to people, staring at nothing through the corner of my eye, hardly saying a word. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to be sane.

I hope they understand.

Depression lies

Rotten and impure and full of hatred.

Guess what I was talking about when I wrote this a few days back. Me.

Confession

This is going to be hard.

My family has a history of schizophrenia. I know, from first-hand experience, that a person with mental illness is capable of living a full life, and given the right support and medication, even becoming a source of love and support to those around them. Much of media’s “misreporting” on mental illness comes from a place of ignorance. And yet, the first time I told a friend I thought I might be suffering from depression, all I felt was indescribable shame.

Pretense

It’s cold today. The monsoon has officially set in. I dont like cold days. Makes me more depressed than usual. I can’t seem to get out of bed today. The same song has been playing on loop for an hour and a half, and I keep telling myself I’ll get up when the song finishes. I want to be able to call someone and talk, to tell them how I feel, but I’m afraid. This pretense is the last thing I have to hold on to.