I have been diagnosed with depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
My depression and obsession manifest in several ways. I am hypersensitive to the way I interact with others, and after interactions end, I ridicule myself inside my head for the smallest things.
You idiot, why did you hesitate to give her a hug? She probably thinks you don’t like her.
God, you’re creepy–don’t you know she’ll think you’re romantically interested in her if you act like that?
Jesus Christ, you’re awkward. They probably felt really uncomfortable.
It doesn’t matter if you meant it in a racist way or not–she took it that way, and now she hates you.
These thoughts play themselves over, and over, and over in my head, and I cannot make them stop.
I tear at the skin on my cuticles to the point of hemorrhaging. I have tried everything to stop, but I cannot.
When my brain chemicals are imbalanced, or when my circumstances change, or when depression just flat-out feels like it, I also experience depressive episodes.
My eyes are covered in scales, searching the heavens as my mouth hangs open in terror. He plunges his sword, spear, and javelin in the depths of my stomach and I scream; I fall to my knees and scream. I claw at my eyes and beat my chest and I scream, but it is not enough. It is never enough to express the chaotic implosion of everything I am.
When my brain chemicals are not imbalanced, I see things others cannot. I love with a love that crushes my self. I notice the universe in its vastness and intricacy, and I spend precious moments of mental clarity trying to capture it. I learn new modes of creative expression so that I might come closer to recreating beauty.
For my love of all things golden and glorious, I would live half a lifetime in depression if it would allow me one second of supernatural wonderment.