FEATURED ARTIST: MAY 2016 - Gabrielle Szynski: Part 2

The Depression

 

     Nothing like this comes in a rush. I never realized I was actually depressed until it came around the one year mark. Depression isn’t a tidal wave of sadness that crashes over you in a sudden sweeping motion that drowns your body instantly, it is a small seed planted in the back of your head, that sprouts ever so slowly. The Depression began to form when the Bulimia did. It started out with just being sad about my body. The confidence levels fell, and ever so slightly grew into something bigger. The first months were hardly a blip on my radar. I was sad sometimes. I didn’t feel like doing things with friends as often. I was tired more often than I should have been, but I was okay, right?

     Not right. I had come into an abusive relationship my junior year of high school, and Depression reared its ugly head. Between being controlled in every aspect of my life, from social media to who I was allowed to see, and clothing, the sadness inside me never stopped growing. Sad minutes became sad hours. Sad days became sad weeks. Sad weeks became sad months. Sadness became my life. My Depression was the equivalent of being trapped in a room slowly filling with water. By the time I realized this was not normal, the only thing above water was my head.

     Depression is being stuck in the middle of the ocean at the deepest point of its depths. I had sunk far below the surface, yet I was still alive. It was not drowning or trying to stay afloat. I had already sunk, and there was no where to go. Depression was not showering for a week because I didn’t care. I only showered when my head got too itchy, and I’d wear the same clothes until they stunk so bad I could no longer stand it. Any self care became useless. I just didn’t care how healthy I was, or if I looked decent enough to leave the house. Going out in public was always an out of body experience. My body was present, experiencing everything and going through the motions, but I was somewhere else, locked up in a different part of my brain.

     In the peak of my Depression, I had suffered my first real heart break, and that tipped the scale too much. I felt more alone than ever. My life had never been darker. People would always tell me there was the light at the end of the tunnel, but how can you find a God damn light at the bottom of the ocean? My limbs felt as if they had been tied to cinder blocks. In these times I barely left my bed. Breathing was like running a marathon, I was barely capable of that simple task.

     Depression is planning out your own suicide. I thought about taking my life almost every day. What would be the easiest way? Could I search the black market and find a proper gun? Perhaps an armed robber would shoot me if I asked nicely. Would my death be walking in front of that car? Would it be slicing open all the veins I could find in my arms and neck? Perhaps it would be keeping my head underwater in the bathtub until I went unconscious. 

     I remember the exact day, it was a warm summer day, it was perfect. My dad was away in Texas for work, and wouldn’t have to see anything. He wouldn’t find my body first, it’d be fine. I already chose the rope I would use as a noose, and knew exactly where to go. The garage was boiling hot so perhaps my body wouldn’t be so cold to touch. It was 1:15 in the afternoon on a Wednesday, the time I truly no longer wanted to be on this Earth anymore. I remember cutting the rope and measuring it around my throat, I stashed it away in my underwear drawer, somewhere my father nor brother would ever want to look into. At 1:10 in the afternoon I took that rope out. My brother was working, and I was safely alone. That day I hardly responded to any texts I received, and ignored all social media. I cut all ties, and I didn’t leave a note.

     Suicide is not selfishness. Those who do not understand it well, think, “Well how dare this person do that to their family! How selfish it is to end your life.” I remember the first time I heard one of my friends say this. We were discussing those who jump onto the CTA tracks to commit suicide, and hearing her say those words broke my heart. In the end, she would have called y selfish. Suicide is not selfish, it is perhaps one of the most heart breaking acts on this Earth. Depression is being so sad that you are blinded, and do not see the light in anything anymore. There is no future. I was sad for so long I had forgotten what happiness felt like. You do not recognize yourself as a happy person, the word is foreign, laughing is an act, and smiles hurt. It is never selfish. It is the true loss of all hope and never seeing a way out because your eyes have been picked out by death. Depression is never seeing your life getting better at any point in time. It is being sucked into darkness, but no one can hear screams from the bottom of the ocean.

     On what I thought would be my last day on Earth, I did not leave a note. I climbed onto my dads car in the boiling garage and tied the rope on a distance beam as far away from the car as possible. I tied the other end around my neck, not too tight, as I knew that might mess up the job. I pushed off from the car, and the floor beneath me fell. In this moment, I no longer wanted to die, but I didn’t leave a note.

 

 

Visual Diary #2 by Clifford Prince King

Visual Diary #2 by Clifford Prince King

French Fries