Finding a Way to Say Depression Out Loud

During the past months, it occurred to me several times to speak my truth and to tell my close ones about the deafening silence in my head, the crumbling thoughts and the chaos. I have been willing to tell people about the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been living inside — and to do it openly. However, being open about such intimate feelings is never easy. From my early childhood when my mother would bring me and my sisters to the psychologist, having to deal with a strong family history with various problems, I have always known it was a hard thing to do.

I had the privilege of being told by numerous people (online, because it’s way easier and comfortable to write and admit it to people I don’t know in real life) I had to voice those words to people around me. I knew — I know — it is the only way out.

As I grew closer to my best friend — insomnia, I also walked hand in hand with these constant daunting and thunderous thoughts in my head. I felt like I was only living in my head. And writing those very words, I recall Jamie Tworkowski‘s words in his book:

“Don’t live only in your head. It’s lonely and it’s dangerous.”

Whether music was the one accompanying me during those darkest nights, or this book, several times I have felt the urge to be honest once and for all. The need, the sudden impulse to unveil my true self always seemed like an attainable reality at night, yet the rising sun always made the obstacles visible again, clearer than ever. Sometimes I feel like I’m playing hide and seek. In my heart, I still want to kill those lies and to end the pretending part, to show I feel like a broken toy behind the role I play through my up-to-date outfits and makeup and my seemingly confident behavior.

The step to opening up is not harder than I would have imagined. Nonetheless, from time to time, it hinders me from believing in a brighter future.

Every now and then, the night seems to grant me with new possibilities, but when the sun rises I am deprived of hope and put right back into my comfort zone.

For now, there is only pain I don’t know how to handle. How to tell my relatives? How to let the mask fade away? How to let go? How to reach out? How to find a shoulder to lean on? How to cope with the shown deprivation without feeling pitied or ashamed or annoying?

But for now, there also is an ounce of hope to hold on to — whether it’s an inspiring quote, a life-changing book, a song that offers new perspectives or the mere thought that we really are not alone in this (and I’m writing this knowing it’s really hard to believe at certain times).

We are not alone.

We will make it through. 

And if not today or tomorrow, someday we will find a way to say these words aloud.