Take a moment to imagine a classroom filled with people, whatever age is close to you. There might be someone obnoxiously loud. There is the person who always answers all the questions in a whisper from the back of the class. The guy who cracks all the jokes. The girl who never says anything unless she has to. They might get on your nerves a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Just keep this classroom in mind as you read.
The official medical definition for depression is: two or more weeks of extreme sadness. And I’m not talking about being sad because you got a bad grade, or you lost your wallet. I’m talking about barely functioning throughout the day, allowing people to talk to you without giving much in response, and eventually receding into yourself only to hear your thoughts echo off the hollow space where something inside yourself should be.
Depression is like heading into the ocean before a hurricane strikes, and all the seas are churned up. You can hear people calling your name behind you, and for a split second you turn around, just a second. You just want to tell them that you are okay, that you don’t want them to worry. And they hear you. They believe you. And you watch their backs as they turn to walk back up the beach. But as soon as you turn around to face the ocean once more, a wave slaps you in the face. It knocks you off your feet and under the water dragging you down, farther and farther. It makes your eyes water, stings the back of your throat, and tastes bitter in your mouth. And at first you fight, oh you fight so hard. Flailing your arms, kicking back to the surface, screaming as soon as you break the surface just for a moment before it swamps you again. After a while though, all you want to do is get out of the water and follow your friends. But by now the hurricane is so close, and you can’t see which way is shore when you get your head above the water because of the pouring rain. And some people can’t find their way out of the storm, and I pray for their souls. But finally you can realize how to get out of the storm. You have to tell yourself, “I can stand up, right here, right now.” You have to tell yourself, “I will see the shore. I will walk up the beach.” You have to make the ocean of emotions raging around inside obey what YOU want to feel. You are capable of doing whatever it is that needs to get done. This doesn’t mean you never ask for help, or that you shouldn’t tell people you trust. You should always tell someone. And sometimes they’ll listen, sometimes they won’t. But as one of my best friends told me, “People are either a blessing or a lesson.”
Remember the classroom we thought about earlier? Well the brutal truth is this: they all have a problem that makes them act that way. The really loud one? She’s in an abusive relationship and can’t get out. The one who always answers in a whisper from the back of the class? His parents just got a divorce and his alcoholic dad blames him for it. The guy who makes all the jokes? He’s been carted around his extended family all his life because his house burned down when he was a kid. The girl who you forgot was in the class because she’s so quiet? She’s too busy fighting her way out of depression to participate. So what do you think now? Did they really annoy you, or were you just judging them without considering what kind of evil they battle on a daily basis?
“The ones who can laugh the loudest can cry the hardest.”
Your Sweet Assassin