I always know when it's coming on. This feeling builds up in my chest, getting heavier and heavier, until it feels like a solid mass around my heart. I always imagine that this is what it feels like to be cursed. Not like bad like curse, but fairy tales cursed. There is always the evil witch who puts a curse on some unsuspecting maiden, and the maiden clutches at her chest with the a look of agony on her face. Yeah, feels like that.
Right now, there is a hand wrapped around my heart. It squeezes harder and harder, until my thoughts are completely devoted to thinking about the pain. The pain in my heart. I try to fight it, to keep the evil thoughts at bay. Sometimes I can keep the worse thoughts away. I can keep myself from hurting myself or thinking about suicide, but that is all I can fend off. My mind is a wreck, terrorized by the horrors within myself.
Sometimes, I wish that depression wasn't my problem. I feel like no one ever seems to know who to react when they hear I suffer from it. In some ways, having a drug problem would be so much easier. People would think, "Yeah that one. She does drugs. She's trying to get help, poor thing, but she is struggling. Her parents must be a wreck!" How do you comfort people just because their daughter is a little sadder than most? I feel like every time people find out about this, their minds flash to those annoying antidepressant commercials with the wind-up toys.
It's weird how the mental becomes the physical. It may seem like a metaphor, a pain in my chest to represent the pain in my heart. But it isn't. It is a physical feeling as well at a psychological one. When depression hurts, it hurts everything.
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