I’m so sick of people who say they’re your friends then they turn on you time and time again. A never ending cycle that spirals down. Who do I go to now? There is nobody left.
Escape. When we hear that word, we often associate it with running or getting away from something. Whether it’s escaping from a math test by faking sick or getting away from the small town you live in. But things like these are pretty easy to escape if you set your mind to it, but what happens when what you need to escape from is yourself?
I used to be a relatively happy person. Really happy, actually. I was the kind of person who didn’t understand why anyone could ever be sad because life was so beautiful and there were so many great things. Those were the days. But then something in me changed and I… I was never the same anymore. Going into all the lenghty details might bore you so I’ll just say I spent most of my time trying to remember how happy felt like.
Last year, I started accepting the fact that I may, in fact, be depressed. At first I didn’t want to admit it, not event to myself because depression is something very serious and I just refused to believe it. I thought ‘Maybe this is just something everyone goes through once in their lives.’ For a few months, I tried to force myself to believe that lie but I noticed how frequently I cried for no reason and how empty I always felt that it didn’t even hurt anymore. I couldn’t feel anything and in my opinion, that was so much worse.
There were so many scattered and unfathomable thoughts in my mind, there were voices screaming things I didn’t understand and it was all so loud. It rang in my ears and it was as if the noises wove themselves into tight ropes and wrapped themselves around my chest and my throat, choking me and making it hard to breathe. I felt weak and as if I wasn’t me anymore, like I was just floating through the hallways at school, like everything I was saying was from a voice recording, and like I was watching myself from the outside. I felt detached and empty and I needed to escape all the pressure, all the sadness and all the indescribable pain in my chest. Often times, I’d think I was finally alright. I didn’t want to be depressed… no one did.
To this day, I still have breakdown and panic and cry and everything mentioned above and I still have that never-fleeting feeling of emptiness. Sometimes I still hear the voices yelling. I try to push them out but I feel like I’m holding up the sky and I’m often tempted to let the sky fall.
I’m looking for ways to help me cope and I can’t say I’m better. But slowly, I’m feeling more at peace with myself. I’m starting to escape the sadness. Maybe it’s temporary, maybe it’s permanent, but I’m not as mad at the world for having made me go through all that pain as before. I was able to learn how to cherish each moment, how to see the beauty in all the simple things in life, and how pointless it is to worry about such small things that probably won’t even matter in awhile. I found my own ways to escape the hardships and I didn’t even need to harm myself in any way or change the way I was.
Escapade; an escape from confinement or restraint.
I made the most out of the seemingly unimportant moments of my life and I started calling them my escapades. One of my favorite ones was quite recent; my friend and I didn’t want to go to class early so we stayed in the bathroom for a little over half an hour. We didn’t do much of anything, really. But I felt as if it was important, something that would turn into a story. Like maybe I’d tell my future kids how we lived off of tic-tacs and finished our chemistry homework as we listened to the loud freshmen’s mindless chatter while they changed into their gym clothes, wishing we could cast a spell on them to keep them quiet. That moment didn’t change my life but the fact that in my mind, it was something special was all it took. Another one of my favorite escapades is whenever it’s cold or windy outside and I’m sitting on the grass, with traces of wind tangled in my hair, the sun shining bright on my back, as I read Song Of Myself by Walt Whitman or some other book with a whole different world written on its pages.
Escaping isn’t always about going to foreign lands or going to the spa. It’s not always about leaving everything behind in hope of finding something much better and more worthwhile. Sometimes it can be as simple as putting aside all the problems and the entire world for even just a minute or two, and looking for yourself. Look for yourself in the pages of your favourite book or between the lines of a poem. Look for yourself in the clouds suspended above you, in the different shades of pink and orange that taint the sky every day at sunset, in the way the hairs on your back stand sometimes.
Look for yourself, because only you know how.
- Kyra (this was originally an article i wrote for Rookie but they never published it so I thought it would be nice to share it with our Eddie readers!)
Depressed black&white/advice blog. *trigger warning*