Entries in the Journal of a Depressive
by Eren Kim, Staff Writer

This a fictionalized series of journal entries based on an actual story. Each paragraph represents a time gap between each journal entry.

I'm desperate now. I feel trapped. There is no air for me to breathe without poisoning it with myself. My grades have dropped but I can't even work up the appropriate emotions to react. I just don't care anymore. I want to fight my apathy but it's as if my apathy is suffocating me day after day by sucking my soul dry of its lifeblood. Pretty soon, there will be nothing left of me inside anymore. I'm a freaking shell!

I'm tired of waking up in bed and not being able to get out. I wish I could force myself to get up from bed and walk to the bathroom, turn on the taps, and take a shower. If I could just do that, then I know I'll be able to get through the rest of the day.

It's two hours later now and I'm still here. I'm missing my classes and want to kick myself as punishment. I am so sick of waking up every morning and wishing I could just pass out so I would have a valid excuse for missing class. Sometimes I get this sudden, intense desire to poke my head underneath the covers and curl myself up into a ball and hide inside a closet or between the corner and the bed when I'm dressing for school or work. I'd feel safe there and no one could hurt me. I wish I could push the world away from me, sink into the ground and never rise up again. I would love to be non-existent, fade into oblivion…but not dead. I stopped desiring to be dead a long time ago although once I was so desperate to jump out of life that I thought about me and a knife... a knife and me in peace. I want anything to get rid of this feeling that it's the end of the world - anything at all. Even inhaling and exhaling air is too exertive for me. It's too foul. All human contact is foul. Why did I stop when I could've pushed the knife through? Something held my hand back. Dammit! What? What was it that prevented my hand from going through with it? I remember now. I was afraid. I was afraid of being found out and punished again.

I used to enjoy life. I used to enjoy school and learning. I used to enjoy being with friends until all that started. It was as if an invisible, intangible brick wall appeared out of thin air and refused to budge no matter how much I pushed and screamed at it. After a time, I started to give up and I lost all hope of ever being able to make contact - deep, lasting, permanent contact - and not your superficial hello's and hi's but real contact - contact between souls that last forever, the type of contact that goes so deep into the ocean of emotions that it becomes unbreakable, and when you're separated from that soul, you will still recognize and affirm each other's existence. However, I quit and withdrew because after a while, humans - all humans- became petty, conniving, blind fools who rush around going crazy over the results of one exam when they have their entire lives to live. I started hating people. I hated my parents, I hated myself because I wasn't as good as the others in anything, and I hated anyone who was happy because I couldn't be happy.

You can be less worried now. I won't put such vitriolic attacks against others inside of you again. I finally saw a counselor who referred me to a program for long-term treatment. I was initially reluctant to call up the program and schedule an appointment because my first thought was, I don't need this. I'm not crazy, just mad - mad and depressed. They're just mood changes but the counselor was insistent on having me seek help outside the school office. She also proposed medication. Medication? My mood switches aren't that bad! Isn't medication only for lunatics and people wrapped in white coats trapped in mental asylums? I'm not one of them!

Okay, journal, the sessions weren't as bad as I thought they would be. The people were very nice and looked more concerned about my welfare than I do. I don't even pay attention if I hurt myself because I'm absolutely clueless as to how I did it. I wish someone would tell me why I do what I do.

I'm going to meet my doctor. Let me call her my doctor. I'm afraid of what others will think if they discovered I am going to be seeing a psychiatrist regularly from now on. Will they stop talking to me and avoid me if I pass them by? Will they think I'm abnormal because I'm not supposed to be depressive (That's my diagnosis. It's official. I have a major depressive disorder - whatever the hell that means.) and I'm Asian? After all, Asians aren't supposed to ever get depressed. You don't usually hear it on the news. Someone once told me about a Harvard girl, an Asian, who became so depressed after being accepted to Harvard and not being "number one" anymore, that she committed suicide. I don't blame her. I can't. I know exactly how she must have felt the moment before she hung herself. Did she die by asphyxiation or a cut? I don't remember. Either way, I feel guilty about having been prescribed medicine. None of my acquaintances take medication for this. It sounds like a hoax but at this point, I'm willing to try anything that will kick me out of this vegetative state, anything besides the idea of cutting myself and letting the blood run. Releasing blood from my skin calms me down. It's the whole concept of purging sin and washing away the dirty things inside by drawing them out that fascinates me. I want to purge myself. It can be quite relaxing and refreshing.

There is a little vial of blue pills standing on the desk before me. This is my prescription, the pricey objects that are supposed to help me reach a normal state so I can function normally and escape this mental prison of mine. They're such small pills. How is one going to help me get through the day? Can you believe how pricey one month's dosage is? If it wasn't for my health insurance, I'd be flat out broke!

Wow! These pills work! It's been my third day on them and I am alive for the first time in years! I felt the effects immediately after I took the first one. My eyes opened, really opened, and I am able to take in the world and not despair. The dark wall that forced me to be an outsider for so long has finally crumbled. No, it has dissipated into nothingness. I can reach out with my hand and hold something real in my hand, something that won't flee from me but stay there and allow itself to be handled. It wasn't like that before. Before, it was as if everything was escaping my grasp. I couldn't hold on to anything tangible and solid. But do you know what the most amazing thing about this medication is? I can talk. I can finally talk to people without wanting to run away, hide, and cry. I haven't had a senseless crying spell in these past few days and it makes me so happy I want to get up, dance around the room, and never stop! I've always been curious as to how the "others" live without any mental disorders so I ransacked the self-help section in the library for clues that would help me shatter the invisible walls of my prison. It's so easy to fall into the trap of envying those who are free to live their lives without the help of any medication. But everyone has his or her own shit to deal with and this is mine. It's not that terrible so I shouldn't complain. There are worse things out there.

So...another month has passed. I have been good so far except for day-long relapses scattered here and there consequently brought on by my forgetfulness to take a pill every day. I raged only once but I was able to control and stop it. I still haven't gotten over the happiness of being able to feel connected with the human world. Even the bad stuff that happens out there bounces off me now. I can shrug it off or face it with confidence. My heart palpitations and anxiety attacks have stopped bothering me. I have no urges to purge myself by releasing blood or making myself eat until I feel like puking anymore. The most wonderful thing about all of this is the simple fact that I can now sit down at my desk and concentrate upon one task at a time without hearing that demonic, nagging voice from the back of my mind taunting me and whispering to me, "You are a failure and you will never change no matter what so why don't you give up now?" Those blue pills have squelched that voice out and I can't praise the medication enough for it! That voice used to drive me insane with anger every day because I couldn't stop it and it wouldn't be stopped. I love you, my little blue pills, even if you are a brand name rip-off. You are so worth taking! You even give me refreshing sleep and a haven from my dreams! "A little blue pill each day, will keep the horrific blues away..."

Life is so incredible on these pills...how did I ever survive without them before?

It happened again today. I forgot to take my medication for the past couple of days and the blues returned and kept me awake all night. I tossed and turned but couldn't go to sleep because the nightmares kept waking me up. People die in my dreams. Journal, what should I do about that? I've been stressed out all week for no obvious reason and it's been keeping me jittery and nervous each day. I'm starting to snap at others due to some funky mood and everything is starting to look gray and hellish again. My heart is numbing and withdrawing into itself to prevent any contact between itself and the world. I don't want to touch or talk to anyone right now but just curl up and rest in an eternal sleep.

I need to run away to anywhere that's far away from here. Help me.

Once again, I'm writing to you so it means something must have happened. The pills are kicking in once again so my mind is freed from the hazy clouds surrounding it. Whenever the weather in my soul turns moody, my mind disembodies itself from the rest of the world and floats to the sky where it can watch the world turn with an indifferent shrug. I had an epiphany today and it made the rest of my life make sense. We're put on this world not to be by ourselves but to reach out to others and help sustain one another. I've been trapped inside my depression - that word still tastes strange inside my mouth - for so long that I failed to see I'm not alone. For the first time in years, I am truly glad to be alive!