Depression is selfish. Maybe not for most people, but it is for me.
When I’m in an episode, I see things differently and think differently. My thoughts swirl back to myself, misreading interactions and isolating myself as the problem over and over again.
You would be surprised how much a girl can blame herself for when she has disordered thinking. Every event and conversation pushes deeper and deeper, until I am the only one responsible for every bad thing, and I can barely move or breathe because of the weight I have put myself under.
And that’s just the definition of selfishness, isn’t it? Only thinking of yourself. Making yourself the center of the world–out of pity and fear instead of entitlement–but the center nonetheless.
It’s exhausting, being at the center of the world.
It wasn’t designed to revolve around one person. It leaves you trapped, sinking into the quicksand of your floor. Surrounded by dirty clothing and empty chip bags.
It leaves you with nothing but a hollowed-out body.
The problem is that the rest of the world doesn’t stop when yours does.
Finding a way to function through depression is as much a curse as it is a blessing. It’s awful to be stuck in bed, to neglect every responsibility, but it’s a dull sort of pain.
High-functioning depression doesn’t necessarily glue you to your bed. It lets you get to class and work. It still consumes you, but people can’t see it as plainly. It weaves itself into the hidden aspects of your life. The messiness of your room, the way you decline invitations or the loss of life in your eyes.
I’ve been submerged in both levels of functioning.
I miss classes and live on my floor because I don’t think I deserve a bed. I also work until the dead of night to distract myself from my own thoughts.
People are imperfect, so it’s easy to nitpick your faults when you can’t do anything but think of yourself. It’s easy to fall into the trap of your own mind. To think the walls of shame and hollowness won’t ever stop closing in.
But the world doesn’t revolve around you.
When you are drowning in the gravity of your own personal solar system, the hardest thing in the world is to remember that other people exist. But once you do, a little weight lifts off your chest.
The pull inward won’t simply vanish. It’s a constant tug-of-war between the voice in your head and the reality outside of it. It’s not as easy as pulling yourself out. It never is, and for some of us, it’s a weight that will keep coming back to find us over and over again.
People won’t always be able to see depression crushing you, but you have to hold onto the sight that there are other people at all. Depression shrinks your vision until you can only see yourself. Remembering others widens it again, pulling you back into balance.
Once you can do that, you stop being the center of the universe and start becoming part of it again.
