I suffer from depression. I know. Maybe you don’t believe me. I can’t do anything about that. I’m not here to persuade you. Trying to convince narrow-minded people will only make me more depressed.
People say, get help from a mental health specialist. I wish I could. I can’t afford any. Not right now. Oh yeah, you’d tell me I should fix my budget for it. Right. Thanks for adding another item on my depression list.
People say to look for someone to talk with. Anyone. Anyone except them. Wow. Thanks. You shouldn’t have talked to me in the first place, if only to tell me that.
If you’ve managed to read this far, wow— you’re something else. Some people would give up after the second or third paragraph. Most would not bother reading even the first paragraph alone. And I don’t blame you, or them, or anyone. Really, who enjoys talking to depressed people? Life should be happy; why bother being burdened by someone else’s unhappiness?
That’s why I don’t want to talk to you. To any of you.
No, I don’t want to talk to you— you, who likes to share those posts about innocent-sounding ideologies that only allows positivity in life. What was it— don’t let negative people into your life? That sounds right! Why should you? Life is only for positive people. Let the negative people die. Am I being too extreme? Well, you’re being too naive.
No, I don’t want to talk to you— you, who likes to twist God’s words into a self-serving pep talk. Is Philippians 4:8 really is about ‘spiritual’ positive thinking? Whatever happened to Bible context study? Hypocrites. How you easily, insensitively throw God’s loving words at the down-throdden as if their troubles are blasphemous, all the while forgetting the God who subjected Himself to our miseries? Christ Himself— who was at the mercy of our own human emotional storms: from the confusion at age 12, the pain of loss for Lazarus, the fury at the temple and the rage against the fruitless tree, the depression of Gethsemane, the loneliness of the cross. Would you tell, rebuke Jesus in all these dark occasions, saying: “No, Lord— whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable— if anything is excellent or praiseworthy— think about such things!”
No, I don’t want to talk to you. Because you don’t really care.
Yes, I need a doctor. Because for people like me, it’s cheaper to afford a doctor than a friend. Cheaper, easier, more convenient, more dependable. Instant rent-an-ear, sometimes sans the heart.
Who would want to be a friend with a depressed person? It’s too… tiring. I know. We also get tired of ourselves. Believe me. Believe us. Or don’t. We are not your burden to carry, we are not your cross to bear. No, we don’t blame you. But don’t blame us when we don’t want to talk with you, too.
Yes, we need people to talk with. Sometimes, we do find each other— nurse each others wounded souls. Sometimes, it helps; sometimes, it only makes it worse. Maybe we do need doctors. Maybe we do need doctors than we need friends, because if doctors fail our expectations… well, we can just sue them for being a bad doctor. Can we sue people for being bad friends? I guess not. Sigh.
I wish I could talk to you— like a normal person would, like all your normal friends would. I wish I could be with everyone else— everyone else who can live normal lives, have normal happiness and normal days and normal stories to tell each other every day. I wish I could throw away or leave behind this darkness like people think, and spend a magical fairytale night— even for just one night!— like Cinderella or Aladdin or the Frog Prince or Shrek and the Donkey, who all got a chance to just be free, even for a while, from the troubles of their fairytale reality of their real lives.
But here we are— here I am, just one of the innumerable depressed people in the world. I’m probably the noisiest, the most talkative of them; but don’t be fooled. No, I still don’t want to talk with you, unless you start to care… not just for me, but for all those unseen faces in the dark, true faces hidden behind masks of smiles, masks of contentment, masks made to make them feel acceptable, wanted, welcome to your world of normality. Because it’s the only way we can survive with you. Because it’s the only way you’ve allowed us to stay with you.
So no, I don’t want to talk with you.
But please, please— do listen to our silent cries.