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The Veil of Despair by Emma Carter
Updated: Aug. 1, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 8, 2014
As a writer, I strive to capture the essence of everything around me. It’s essentially my only skill. However, the challenge of being humorous often leaves me feeling like I’m donning a facade, pretending to be someone I’m not. I absolutely adore laughter—both experiencing it and bringing joy to others—but the reality is that, more often than not, that joy is absent in my own life.
It’s difficult to silence the chaos swirling in my mind, and articulating my experiences with depression feels daunting. There’s a nagging fear that expressing these feelings will come across as weakness or that it might alienate others since it’s not exactly a lighthearted topic. Everyone has their battles to fight; why would they want to delve into mine?
Moreover, conveying the depth of my feelings is an uphill struggle. Severe depression is often incomprehensible to those who haven’t experienced it. Some days are manageable, characterized by moments of creativity or time spent outdoors, which give an illusion of normalcy. Yet, it’s on those very days that the darkness can surge, akin to a virus, prompting me to remind myself to stay centered, to avoid veering too close to the edge.
In these moments, I should reach out for help, but depression brings with it an overwhelming sense of shame, as though I should somehow be above feeling this way. It feels like an indulgent obsession with my own sadness rather than a legitimate illness. So, I bottle it up, isolating myself further, convinced that sharing my struggles will only come off as whining. It’s a challenge to communicate that depression extends far beyond mere sadness and that OCD is not just about obsessive cleaning; both can be utterly debilitating.
Sadly, depression has hindered me both mentally and physically. My ability to concentrate is nearly non-existent, and I often find myself oscillating between staring blankly at my screen, feeling trapped behind a metaphorical curtain, and engaging in excessive exercise as a distraction. I chase the fleeting feeling of anything other than numbness.
The immediate outcomes of my actions feel insignificant because, in that moment, nothing seems to matter. Even the self-destructive tendencies stemming from my OCD provide a false sense of control, yet it never satisfies me. This is the nature of depression—it distorts your perception. Every task feels like wading through quicksand; work becomes tedious, joy turns to dullness, and even past achievements feel devoid of meaning. It’s as if hope itself has vanished.
The reason I’m sharing this is due to the pervasive stigmas surrounding depression and mental health issues that deviate from the norm. We often feel pressured to suppress our struggles, believing that everyone else has everything figured out while we are somehow failing. But we are not alone.
This isn’t a motivational speech filled with solutions or a happy ending, as I don’t possess those answers. Rather, it serves as a reminder that you are not defective or broken; you are simply human. You are doing the best you can with the strength available to you. You choose to cling to hope and to fight back, and even on the hardest days, I commit to this fight as well. Writing is what I know, and we don’t have to navigate this journey alone. By sharing our experiences, we can find connections and perhaps even moments of joy or understanding, which can be everything we truly need.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the complexities of living with depression while also challenging the stigma associated with mental health issues. It emphasizes the importance of connection and understanding in the face of personal struggles, reminding readers that they are not alone in their experiences.