A Story about the State of Mind

(Author’s Note: This story discusses mental health topics — please read with care 💕)

I thought about leaving. Not a place — just life.

They say people only think that when they’ve lost their purpose. I don’t think I ever had one to begin with. Somehow, I still managed to live every day, even though I dreaded some of them.

I was 15 when I first got my “you can’t be doing that” lecture from my parents when I lied to them.

I was 21 when I had my first real friend. But they left me for under a week.

You would think depression means having a messy room and being sad, and it is sometimes, but for most of us? It doesn’t.

Depression is losing interest in what you used to love. It’s the feeling of remembering how joy used to feel, and realizing it no longer does. It’s the feeling of thinking you shouldn’t have been born at that moment. It’s the feeling of remembering how you once loved something with your whole heart.

So when they say they know what depression means, they don’t, because depression doesn’t have a definition. Depression is a state of mind; it’s a feeling, and Feelings don’t have definitions.

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t anything because I didn’t feel anything.

People might say, “You can talk to me, it’s fine.” But you can’t because you can’t explain to them what you feel. And maybe you don’t even understand it yourself.

You go through the motions. Eat. Sleep. Smile. Act like you’re okay, even when every part of you is quiet, empty. Like no one would notice if you stopped.

Maybe everyone’s just pretending they overlook the empty parts in people — and maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.