The Visualization of Depression

Depression.

How do you describe something as complex as depression?

I have lived inside of this black, all consuming muck that they call depression for the majority of my life, especially my childhood. Yet there is no, singular way to describe the feeling. Is this the reason why millions of people cannot empathize with what ‘depression’ feels like? It is strange to think that so many people suffer from this, yet it is also something that many others cannot comprehend. Or even believe that it exists. There was once a time where I tried to describe what ‘depression’ was like in my mind. It was just a fleeting, off the top analogy that I made while I was speaking to my psychologist. All he did was ask me me two questions.

“What are you feeling right now?” He questioned.

And to that I replied, “I feel depressed.” It was the easiest way for me to convey the anguish of betrayal in the form of words. I remember looking down at my feet, unable to bring myself to speak more about it. There was just so many things going through my mind about how I felt. While I knew I was depressed, my answer didn’t quite accurately convey the depth of my pain. That’s probably why he asked me the other question.

“And what does this ‘depression’ feel like for you?”

I probably could have taken the time to just blurt out a ton of short, typical answers. In fact, I actually probably started with the most cliche of answers. “I’m hurt. Betrayed. I feel like I was robbed of an opportunity that never got started.” Of course, he nodded his head in understanding, probably trying to put the dots together in my particular circumstance. I must have also had a look of having something else to say. Or maybe he just saw the gears going in my head. The next thing I blurted out, I think, piqued his interested.

“I feel like I’m in space.” Admittedly, I was just going with the flow. This was just one of the times that I didn’t think about what it was I was going to say. I am a visual person, so in my mind, I saw myself floating in a black background.

For me, that is my depression. An empty, black space that holds no limitations on how far it stretches. It knows no bounds. It doesn’t matter whether or not I wanted it. Somehow, one way or another, my depression took me on a journey. From having two feet on the ground, I managed to float slowly float away from the world.

At first, it feels great to just allow yourself to swim in your emotions. You want to feel like, embrace it, and accept it, you know? Sometimes you just don’t want to pretend that everything is alright. Whatever happened, it broke down your wall and, god damn it all, maybe you like the idea of letting out your frustrations of something. Or someone. That’s why, at first, you may feel as light as a feather in this stage.

For some people, once they get the passive out of their system, it’s easy to anchor themselves back down to the ground. Whatever the method, they achieved it. They are able to move on like nothing happened. But then… There’s those of us that keep floating higher and higher.

Maybe you know what I’m talking about. Maybe you weren’t even aware when exactly it happened. But at some point, as your floating farther away from the world and closer to space, there comes a time that you find the oxygen running thin and you’re having a hard time functioning. It doesn’t make sense at first, and maybe you realize something is off. Even though your try your fucking hardest to get your two feet back down to the ground, the deprivation has already taken its toll.

You’re out of energy. Shit. Oh well. It’s just a phase. You won’t feel like this forever, right?

Perhaps this is true in some cases. Everyone is different, even if it’s hard to accept and understand that.

But for me, it didn’t stop there.

I found myself closing my eyes and just allowing myself to get sucked up into the black void beyond the atmosphere of my world. My feet were so far away from the ground that I didn’t care any more. It took a lot of energy just to try and function. Simple, mundane tasks became a chore. In space, there is no gravity, so you are constantly trying to balance yourself the best you can. Except, without gravity, you eventually lose your sense of orientation.

Which way is up? Which way is down? Before long, you’re completely lost. You can only see the distant, white flecks of the stars. These stars are like the many doors of salvation, yet there are light years away. It feels like nothing that you do is worth it any more. Now you’ve lost your objectives.

But let’s not forget what makes up space. There are other things out there than just stars. You know that there are other planets, too. But at this point, you can barely breath without over exerting yourself. Maybe you even know that these other planets are actually someone else’s lost world. You know there are others out there as lost as you, but since space is just so big, nine times out of ten, you’ll never come across them. Even with the knowledge that you are not the only one floating aimlessly, you still feel alone. You’re trapped in an endless cycle of… of… of what, exactly?

Depression is horrific. Even at this stage, you might start to think:  You’ve gone too far. It’s so bad, nothing else could possibly get any worse.
I know I once thought that way.

Let me tell you how wrong that statement was.

Just getting so far out in space was a journey in itself. That was probably the easiest part, to be honest. All it takes is one more thing to push our bodies and minds to the absolute precipice of inner destruction.
   
Wait. There’s something in the distance? Yeah. That is the asteroid heading straight for you. It’s a meteor called failure and it just hit you like a train. It wrecked you; it was an arrow to the knee. Followed by getting hit, it explodes. That’s when you find yourself in a field meteoroids. You’re still reeling from the last collision of course, so there’s no time to really stop and prepare yourself for what’s next. Each meteoroid has a name. Some of the ones I accidentally collided with were: Anguish. Bitterness. Denial. Pain. Doubt. Cheated. Invisible. Post-Traumatic Stress.

But there are still others. Shame. Guilt. Humiliation. Labeled. Worthless. Abandoned. Terrified. Invaded. Perverted. Underestimated.

It’s a damn field of meteoroids, each coming with a wave of something to knock you in the ass. This is probably the place where you’ll likely find another lone body, battling their own plethora of emotions. Sometimes you’re able to hold hands while each of you defend what little dignity you have left, but eventually your grip will be torn. Either by force or choice: it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that eventually you’ll find yourself trying to fight the most threatening of matter.

You see, what I’m talking about is not something everyone gets to. Hell, it’s not something anyone even sees coming.  It takes a lot to get to this point. It all depends on whether or not you found your door of light by the time your journey has made it this far.

Still not getting what I’m saying? That’s okay. In space, there are things that you can’t see coming, despite it having trapped you a long, long time ago. It had already been pulling at you from a dark distance. In a way, it kind of feels like the weight of gravity. It’s kind of confusing because even though there’s a sense of something being there for you to put your feet on, whatever that something is, it’s still invisible.

These, my friend, are the monsters to watch out for. So many people have lost their battle to their overwhelming, invisible pits of matter. Some people barely miss it, but others? Well, they are sucked into the vortex of one of the scariest things in space.

The black hole.

It is anything but just empty space. It’s a vortex that condenses the vast majority of energy, passion, ideas, and emotions you have. It keeps crushing it into smaller and smaller pieces of glass that pierces through what is left of your once thick skin. Once you are ensnared by its tremendous force, you have only but a few options left. There is little time to make an effort on what air you have left. There is a dangerously fine line that you must desperately try to find before it turns to a point of no-return.

The black hole is where some people come to rest, for all of eternity…  

Rest in peace.


I have made it to that line, a couple of times. Both times though, I somehow managed to grab a hold of nearest object to me. I will call them the comets of chance. They were my last chances- my final opportunities- to make an effort to get back to the home that I originally floated away from. For me, they came in the form of decisions. I made the choice to get my ass out of bed. I didn’t have anyone to really help me, because honestly, I have a family that really doesn’t understand depression. They vaguely understand that it’s just a boat-load of mixed emotions, but they don’t understand how crippling it is to be floating without aim and hit by the debris.

For me, I decided to get help. In all reality, there’s no reason to fear making an attempt to get yourself back on the rocket towards home. Even astronauts sometimes need help trying to get themselves back in their makeshift home, right? They are given a feed of oxygen and a protective suit, right?

When it comes to space, no matter who you are, you’re going to need that help. Maybe you made a decision to send out a distress signal, like I did. Maybe you ended up colliding with the very ship that will give you a ride back to your wonderful world. In that case, being hit by reality in that way can hurt at first, but make sure you grab on while you can. There are as many ways of escape as there are stars: infinite.

While I found my path, I am also still traveling back to my world. I’m slowly recovering from years of domestic violence and being abandoned by a guy that originally helped me through it. Just as I was coming to a point where I thought I was finally going to land again, his decision to pursue affairs with other women- one being his cousin- is what knocked me back out into the asteroid field again.
Since this is my second trip out into space, I came with a diamond baseball bat. If I can’t escape this, I’m going to take out every last thing I fucking can. Whether or not this will be the beginning of the end, I’m not sure. But I still have my help and I can only keep trying to find my way back home.


Bad things happen to great people. Bad things always happen to great people. That is what life is: it’s balance. It’s just when the scale tips greatly to one side that it gets difficult to manage. If you’re like me, you might have had years of compounding feelings that make up depression. But if life is about balance, you’re going to get your pie. I promise you.


For anyone reading this… if you understand what I’ve been saying here, then you have either already gotten your feet back to the ground or you’re somewhere trapped in that black vacuum called space.

I understand you. I have been there and I have been taken back there. I’m still floating around, too. But in order to get that pie, you need a little push. Find someone. There are programs out there for low-cost help! Hell, maybe you have a place to go to for free! No matter where you’re at in your journey, take it from me: find someone to toss you a feed of oxygen.

You’re worth more than whatever happened to you. You’re still reading this, aren’t you? If you read through this and cried like I did while writing this, then you endured something really important. You can call yourself a survivor. Now that you’ve done it once, I want you to do it again.

All it takes is a little help and a little knowledge that someone understands you.