How did you know?
“Have you ever been depressed?” She asked timidly.
“That’s a dumb question to ask someone like me.” I replied.
“Well, what’s it feel like?”
“What do you mean?” I said, looking sideways at her. “I’m on antidepressants, so yea I’ve been depressed.”
“Well, how did you know you needed that?” She asked, looking down at the floor.
“There are days that I can’t get off the couch…” I started, quietly, not sure where this was going.
How did you know? That’s an odd question I guess. I’ve never been asked that I don’t think. “How do you know?”
The days that I can’t get off the couch because I am too tired, too numb, too empty to do anything…that was a clue.
There’s sadness, everywhere. In the shower, in the hall, in my sleep. It’s everywhere.
When the thoughts of hurting yourself, or even killing yourself, suffocate you to no end, that’s how you know. When you look at your arm and know that you did that to yourself, you know.
I’ve known for a long time that I am depressed. Yes, there are bubbly days, ones where I feel almost like myself. But there’s a pain inside, hidden deep under every fake smile that I can throw to people.
It’s not an easy subject to approach with someone new. Someone who has no idea what they are talking about or what you’re going through. But they have an opinion and they’ve had their moments.
But how did you know you needed pills? Because I knew I couldn’t help myself anymore.