Depression feels like you are lodged in quicksand.
The more you struggle to get free, the quicker you are dragged down.
It feels like having a ball and chain wrapped around my heart, and pulling my heart down into my stomach.
It feels like nothing.
If you don’t think about feelings or the future or the past, you can sail through and feel “fine” but in actuality you are just numb.
Numbing yourself to the world makes you believe you are fine and are protecting yourself, but it makes it impossible to move forward in life.
Feeling happy, or enjoying yourself, makes you feel guilty.
It tricks you into thinking that maybe you were never depressed and your brain just made it all up.
Until the next episode hits and you remember that happiness isn’t happiness.
It’s a temporary moment of feeling less depressed.
When you can’t remember the last time you felt truly happy, when small things didn’t make your world feel like it’s upside down.

When you lay in bed in the morning and fight with yourself because you know there are so many things you could be doing, but the motivation isn’t there.
You pass it off as laziness, but the more the years go by… laziness just doesn’t seem plausible anymore.
Guilty for staying in bed, guilty for getting up and not actually accomplishing anything. Writing lists and lists of things you need and want to do, and planning to do them.
Never starting.
Saying you’ll save it for a better day, when you’re feeling better, when you have nothing else to do, when you’re bored or any other excuse that exists.
My heart literally feels heavy.
I can feel the weight of it pulling me down.

Depression feels like being in a cloud.
It hovers over you day and night and there isn’t any way to escape it.
It feels like walking through a tunnel that is pitch black, and not reaching the end.
You can’t see anything around you, and you don’t know when the light will come.

— slh


I still remember exactly what cupboard the cereal was in,

I remember who sat in which chair at the head of the dinner table,

I remember the sounds of the kitchen floor creaking,

The sounds of the street outside at midnight.

I remember the feeling I got when I walked down the stairs to my bedroom,

How the air shifted to cold as soon as you got to the last step.

I remember the yellow countertop in the bathroom,

The way the shower sounded as the door clicked open and closed,

The way I felt like I was completely alone as long as my bedroom door was shut.

The smell of the air while sitting on the trampoline til the wee hours of the night,

My memories were made there, my memories they stay there,

In that house.

The house where I grew up, the house that sheltered me, and the house that destroyed me all the same,

I remember most of the people who walked in and out of those doors,

The animals I loved and lost,

The fights, the laughs, the noise,

Chaos was our normal, and that was okay.

I remember how it looked like a gingerbread house with the Christmas lights all hung up,

Especially when it snowed.

I remember water gun fights during the summer on our empty street,

Feeling safe in our neighbourhood, and safe meeting neighbors,

Playing in the dirt when the construction workers went home for the day,

Trying to level the ground every single summer for the Costco pool,

The balcony covered inch by inch with beautiful flowers,

The air conditioner making the living room into an icebox,

I don’t want to forget these things.

This house I once called my home,

Someone else lives there now, and the happiness and memories that once belonged there,

Don’t live there anymore.

I am responsible for taking them with me where I go,

But sometimes that’s too painful,

I remember the hearts in the slats on the balcony,

Eating the chives that grew wild in the backyard,

Chasing cats down the hallways and dressing them in baby clothes,

Drawing pictures and creating art,

Doing my homework at the dining room table,

Walking up the giant hill to school.

I don’t miss the spiders, or the smell in the furnace room,

Although I will always remember the endless amounts of extra whole wheat pasta noodles,

And presidents choice cookies that we had stocked in the pantry,

Running up and down stairs as punishment,

Cleaning the bathroom for 5 dollars,

Our house was the gathering place,

It’s where people came for comfort, for sanctuary, for celebration and gatherings,

It was safe, it was loving, and it was home,

Now it’s tucked away in a box inside of me stuffed to the brim with memories,

They slowly pour out of me so secretly sometimes I don’t even notice.dsc_0558-2