Depression is an empty room

I’ll try to describe it. It’s kind of like my room, only the walls are bare, yellowed, not stained but ugly. And you can’t smell anything. There’s nothing much, it’s kind of just empty space. Or rather, there’s a bed. And there are books. But you can’t react to it. You feel nothing. It’s almost like you’ve entered an alien environment, because everything you see around you doesn’t connect with you. There’s a huge detachment, like maybe some of your nerves just disappeared—not as if they were torn out, but rather as if you didn’t even remember there were any nerves even.

Why bother. I keep thinking. What’s the point, I ask, to no one. Again, if there was an answer, I wouldn’t have been able to hear it, because the walls seem to absorb everything, including me. It’s just blank, confusing space. There is no emotion. Maybe one. Just fear. And even the fear is muffled very lightly by this kind of white noise buzzing.

What’s the point!! I think again, this time trying to summon a passionate answer from within. 

"I don’t know." Someone who resembles me shrugs. I nod along, and we just sit there in silence. The pasta getting cold. The room shrinking ever so slightly.

When you look around, there are no colours, or the colours are there, but they just don’t hit. You don’t understand them, and for a while you just stare at them, trying to understand. You make out shapes, but that’s it. You sink back, realising that it’s futile, that all the rest of the books on the shelves are blank, with white, blank covers. Pages with blanks. Some that have no pages. It’s not the absence of feelings, but the idea that there is feeling, but you can’t seem to find it anymore, or it’s encoded in such a strange language, that you can’t understand it. 

I don’t want to finish this sentence. I don’t know what I’ll do after I finish it. I don’t know if I’ll start eating, or if I’ll watch TV, forget everything, move on and be happy maybe. I feel like I’ve gone catatonic, not being able to understand, not being able to feel. All there is is numbness. And you’re so alone, and so confused and so shrivelled up in a space that you start to unhinge, go crazy, become afraid. I’m so afraid, and I’m so weak. What will become of me?

(I wrote this one night when I was not feeling good)

- Amanda