Home / Mental Health / Battling Recurring Depression

Battling Recurring Depression

I was under the misconception that once you have emotionally “dealt with” a problem, you’re done with it. You can think on it, if you like, from time to time, but nevertheless it’s over and the problem you had with it is gone.

However, it’ has recently dawned on me that there are some issues that you must continually deal with. Every time you get over it, it decides to come knocking at your door, usually at the worst possible time (like when your parents are visiting, or it’s 3 a.m. and you’re just starting to really doze off, or when you’re smack in the middle of an orgasm). You think to yourself, what is IT doing here? I’ve already self-treated IT away, why is it even back? Why do I even care that IT’s back? But there it is, waiting outside your door, and you’re looking it dead in the eye through the peephole. You just know that somehow it can see you from the other side in some upside-down, fish-eye distorted way. IT stands there, self-inflated and pompous and arrogant, with that snarly smile on it’s stupid face, knowing that you’re going to open the door eventually. And then, IT can have it’s way with your previously peaceful mind.

IT always looks different then, standing in the dim hallway light. For a split second you don’t even recognize IT. IT wears different clothes or decides to shave it’s nasty face for once, or maybe it looks like it always does and you just don’t recognize it because it’s been so long. Just like when friends come to call, in that first second of looking through the peephole you have to really focus to see who is standing there, and then suddenly you recognize the distorted face. You feel relieved that it isn’t the police calling, or an angry neighbor, or the electric man putting a disconnection notice on your door handle. In this case however, IT may as well be any one of those things, or worse yet, IT could really actually honestly be IT.

Slowly and with a sense of self-loathing, you open the door. You avoid making eye-contact with IT. You surrender yourself to stepping aside while it brazenly breezes past you, as jubilant as ever to be crossing that threshold. Better to deal with IT (yet again) than let him stand there at your door all night, alerting the nosy neighbors of your very personal issues.

What ensues is something of a battle, straight out of Harry Potter. Wands drawn, you both hurl the best of your arsenal at each other while ducking and dodging each others curses. IT flings shreds of old memories that you had discarded long ago. Of course, IT has been following you around your whole life, going through your garbage and picking up these little treasures off the streets and storing them away just for this special occasion.

In response to this repulsive maneuver, you throw back all the happy you’ve got left in you. Pictures of yourself smiling with your friends, a bouncy ball you got out of a vending machine on your first date, dried flowers from Valentine’s Day of ’04, your scrapbook, a copy of your grandmothers prized lasagna recipe. They all go flying through the air one by one toward your enemy. IT doesn’t seem daunted, and even amongst all the shrapnel whizzing around you, IT’s smarmy smile shines out at you.

IT whips out its favorite weapon. A net. A miserable net woven out of negative aura. It casts the net over you so that anyone looking can just TELL that you’re a miserable little being. And, being ensnared in this nasty net, you’re attitude fits the part of a miserable little being perfectly, so no one can even assume that maybe you’re just having a bad day.

You fight and fight with the net until finally you’re so bound up in it that you end up immobilized on the floor of your own damn living room, surrounded by the spent shells of ammunition that were once important parts of you. IT goes on smiling, never saying a word.

Then, it helps itself to dessert. By this I mean it watches as your relationships are affected by it’s net. No effort is required of IT. All IT had to do was catch you unprepared (hell, even if you were prepared, would it really have mattered?) and then sit back and watch the show.

Eventually, someone will be morbidly curious enough to bother to ask you if you’re alright. You’ll look up through the holes in the net at the person standing over you (who is probably hoping you’ll say something hideous, what with that icky aura you’re wearing, so they can go back to ignorantly hating you). All you’ll be able to say is, “Yeah, I’m DEALING with IT.”