Depression
Is Depression that one word that I have been meticulously searching for to describe the very dangerously dark state my body has been in? After watching all of those movies and television shows criticizing and mocking the kids who hide in their closets carefully cutting themselves, cursing their names, and distancing themselves from the outside world I finally realize that I may have been one of them all along. It took me waking up in the hospital in full bewilderment, for hopefully the last time, that after years and years of wondering why I repeatedly viewed life through the dingiest pair of shades that I may be just like the people I made fun of growing up. As much as I try and try to deny this realization my findings always bring me back to that one word, Depression. The shadows that have been following me…the darkness that has been creeping over my shoulder has finally begun to take over my whole world as I know it. The immovable pair of shades cemented to my facade forcing me to take in everything negative forever seeing the world has half-empty versus half-full. I no longer live in the state of Pennsylvania and have come to know my new residence as the State of Depression.
For some it may be easy to pinpoint the exact moment in their lives that caused them to become the newest member of this state we now reside in; the loss of a loved one, the physical and/or sexual abuse from another person, or being the constant outcast in frequent social settings. For me it wasn’t that simple as my mind tends to place all those negative feelings, emotions, and situations in a safe deposit box locked in the deepest parts of my memory. Once this securely sheltered section of my psyche fills to the point of overcrowding my mind has no choice but to unload all of these dark emotions out of me spiraling me out of this fair city and into the foggy decrepit town of Depression-ville, Depression. The inhabitants of this lonely municipality all walk around with fatigued faces and eyes so vacant that your standard passerby could leer right through their sockets into the bottom of the bottomless pit of their idle minds. The expressions on their faces similar to those of the zombies from AMC’s The Walking Dead due to their daily struggle of staging smiles full of sham, pretending to be jubilant and overjoyed while at the same time fighting the demons in their heads that haunt their every action making every task a bitterly painstaking one.
Day-to-day activities in this state become virtually irrelevant as my awakening becomes delayed further and further each day. I have found living in this state that the rules of nature and circadian rhythms are bent and twisted to suit my new lifestyle. I find it nearly impossible to maintain the sense of being upbeat and motivated so I confine myself to the sanctum off my bed until dusk has fallen upon the skies. Only then, when the whole world has fallen asleep, do I find it safe enough to rise in the dark abyss of my surroundings and finally feel comfortable. Slowly, but surely, my body’s clock begins to change and as the sun begins to rise each morning my body begins to creep back into the darkest and loneliest place in fear of being noticed as a member of this state in the daylight. Only in the darkness can I feel comfortable enough to step out onto the streets and into the desolate nightlife of the city. Only then will I have the courage to finally up and leave my mother’s house only to run into the cheapest dive bar, surrounded by my fellow common neighbors, and drink my problems away until I am flat-out of cash or the bar finally closes. As I am now starting my 9th job in just over two years I know now that something has gone terribly wrong in my life. I know now that I need to dig down and figure out what exactly went wrong, and when, so that I can quickly correct. Fore if I have more days like the ones I’ve had as of late I am sure to be doomed for the rest of my life.
I fly through my brain and try to think just where it all began. The blackouts I’ve been having makes this task a rather difficult one, so I start with the most recent asks and count back. One of which happened just a few months ago. The blazing sound of my alarm rescued me from the disturbingly dreadful nightmare I was having. I quickly reached over to slap the snooze button when I realized it was eleven o clock am. I immediately starting cursing to myself realizing that I was supposed to be to work at ten o clock am. This isn’t the first time this has happened and I would surely be fired on this day if I did not have a competent excuse to present to my manager. My family members whom I live with were all out of the house, either at work or running errands, so I didn’t mind the knocking over of various items in the house causing an insane amount of noise. I rushed to the bathroom and expeditiously brushed the wreaking booze smell out of my mouth, splashed water on my face, through my wrinkled worth clothes on and darted out the front door.
It was a cool November morning with clear signs that winter was coming. All of the trees were naked with hundreds of orange and brown dead leaves lying at their bases. As I began walking toward the subway the brisk when hugging my body reminded me that during the chaos of rushing out of my house I had forgotten my jacket. Then I realized the jacket was the least of my worries as I rapidly rummaged through my pockets to ensure I had my cellphone, wallet, and keys. Now I am speedily walking to the subway when I pull out my phone to see I have four missed calls and a voice-mail from my job. I take a deep breath and play the voice-mail left by my general manager, ” So… it’s now 10:55am and you were supposed to be in at 10:00am… this lateness problem has been going on for too long now…. well ugh… just give me a call back when you get this…” beep! The temperature outside is in the high thirty degrees and even though I am only wearing my green uniform tee-shirt my body begins to break out in sweat. Before I shove my phone back into my pocket I check my texts to see that one of my co-workers had texted me, ” Yo Derek where you at? I heard the managers talking about firing you. I hope you have a damn good excuse.”
Panic suddenly sets in as I raced through my brain struggling to find the perfect excuse for my lateness. There is no way I could walk into the downtown French restaurant and tell my oppressive boss that the reason I am late for the twentieth time is because I was out until 4 o clock am again drinking my sorrows away at an after hours spot. That I was so intensely intoxicated that I accidentally set my alarm clock for the exact time I was supposed to be into work this morning; thus the reason for my wrinkled worked shirt and pants, underbrush hair, mild body odor, and the two Santa Claus christmas bags that lie underneath my eyes. My past knocks me upside the head as I instantly remember that the previous year I had been employed at six separate jobs. That’s six separate W-2’s I had to fill out for my tax return. I could not afford to lose another job both literally and figuratively. As I paced by the subway entrance I begin to feel a pulsing knock inside of my head and as I looked up further into the dim sky everything went black.
As I looked all around me all I could see was emptiness. Nothing and nobody. I was unsure whether I was dreaming or somehow locked inside my head helpless to whatever my body had planned for me next. I began to think back how I get to this point in my life. Here at Broad and Olney in the city of Philadelphia where ironically lacks more brotherly than a majority of the cities in this nation. The reason my family and I were whisked off to this city was due to the unsatisfactory lifestyle we came across in the small town of Maple Shade, New Jersey we used to reside in. Though lacking a large population this town had plenty of racism in abundance. It was rough growing being the only African-American in each of your classes. Constantly receiving glances and glares from classmates while learning about harsh treatments we endured during slavery in history classes. The locking of car doors as you walk by, the hiding of purses and wallets when you walk into a room and continual blame on you when something goes missing. At the age of thirteen years old I knew full and well the extent of racism in our country as I watched my family slowly descend into madness.
When I came back to my senses I was laying down on a mattress at Einstein Medical Hospital located just a few blocks away from my house in the Logan section of Philadelphia. While waiting in that lonely room I finally had time to myself to puzzle together the exact reason for my occupancy in the emergency room. I remembered the nurse mentioning a concussion and immediately the pain in my head was triggered. I reached my left hand up to my temple to feel out the source of this pain. As I edged along my hairline to the side of my head I could feel the golf ball sized lump on the side my head through the various bandages keeping it safeguarded. With every slight touch the painfully pulsing sensation intensified. As I was putting my left hand back down my heart quivered at the site of more bandages wrapped completely around my forearm from elbow to wrist.
My mind launched into an immediate frenzy struggling to quest deep into my thoughts to recollect the series of unfortunate events that had happened this morning. Sweat was now visible streaking down my face like rain on windows. I remembered rushing out of my house this morning and arriving at the subway around 11:20am. I removed my phone from my work pants pockets to observe two more missed calls and the time which now read 1:58pm. That’s over two hours of my life unaccounted for. I really needed to do some extreme thinking. I vaguely remember the nurse saying I was attacked on my way to work? That can not be possible. Granted I don’t live in the best area, however I do not see any defensive wounds or scrapes on my knuckles, elbows, or knees. I begin to feel over my bandaged forearm to discover and outline of the laceration when it finally hit me.
Pacing back and forth at the entrance of the subway stop something dark had taken over my body making me realize there was only one scenario that would keep me from losing my job. I bent down, tightened up my shoe laces, and dashed home faster than Sonic the hedgehog. When I arrived at my front door I pulled my keys out of my pocket and progressed with opening my door when the startling vibration of my phone caused me to easily lose grip of my keys. I snatched my phone out of my pocket to see it was my job calling yet again. I cursed a few times to myself as I grabbed my keys and continued to open the door and advance straight to the kitchen. My heart was racing as I scoured the silver drawer grabbing the sharpest knife to take upstairs to my room with me. In my dimly lit room I stared at the machete-like object for two full minutes when I finally had enough courage worked up to make the incision. My right hand, now trembling, moved the knife closer and closer to my left arm until the knife rested on top of my helpless skin. I closed my eyes, sunk the knife deep in my skin, and swiftly pulled the knife away.
I took a few deep breaths before opening my eyes and thought how painless this gash was to me. When I finally had enough bravery I opened my eyes to see blood lazily sliding off of my arm staining my corn colored carpet. Arrogance began to set in as I thought that one measly little cut wouldn’t be dramatic enough for the situation. I was fearless. King of the world. Just one more painless slice of the arm and my job would be safe. I would pin this selfish crime on random neighborhoods and claim they attacked me while journeying off to work. Instead of being the malevolent suspect my managers and employees would view me as the virginal victim. It’s not like this is the first time I have pulled something off like this. Hurting myself to get out of trouble.
confidently I re-positioned the blade parallel on my arms and sought to make an incision both lengthier and deeper than the previous carving which only glided about 3 inches across my arm. Again I nudged the knife deep into my arm, but this time I kept my eyes open. I wanted to bear witness to every milliliter of blood that would come spewing out from the wound. I took a deep breath and sharply swiped the knife down my arm in one hasty motion from elbow to wrist while applying a tremendous amount of pressure. An earthquake immediately erupted inside of my body as my whole torso shuddered. My eyes blurred momentarily as the pulsing in my skull turned into pounding. As my eyes regained focused what I witness caused the entire world to temporarily cease and darken. I was expecting to see nothing but blood dribble out from the trench-like pipeline that would forever scar my arm; however that wasn’t the immediate case I quickly hid in my head hoping this moment would soon be over.
While hiding in my head I began to think back to a time when I felt this feeling of invincibility. Again I was twelve years old and it was summer time in Maple Shade, New Jersey. My brother, my friend Mike, and I were at the town carnival doing the best that would could to fit in when trouble eventually found us like it always did. One of my close friends, a Caucasian kid a year younger than I, was being bullied and tormented by a random group of neighborhood kids. I am strongly against any kind of bullying, which is why a sudden rage immediately filled my body. We all began to argue when we finally agreed to head across the street for me and the head bully to fight one-on-one to end this dispute. Seeing nothing but red I was anxious to duke it out. Once arriving across the street the fight instantly started as I viciously attacked this bully. I ended up getting him to the ground as I stood over pounding at his skull throwing as many blows needed to inflict ample enough damage. In seconds it was an all out war has people were rushing me from all directions. My brother, my close friend Mike and I were now in the midst of battling the whole town until the cops finally showed up to put an end to the battle royal.
Snapping back to reality fully focused now my eyes began to zoom in on the gash to see… white. White stuff completely filling the line engraved in my arm from end to end. As I stared I began to get light headed thinking maybe I cut too deep. I carelessly stumbled back into my computer desk accidentally whacking my monitor right off the side of my desk and crashing to the carpet. Once I finally got my feet underneath me I raced out of my room, flew down the stairs, and darted out of my house being as careful as possible to not let any drops of blood, from my now blood soaked arm, on the flooring of my household. The four block walk to Einstein Hospital now felt like a Luis and Clark Expedition around the world with my unstable legs, pulsing headache, and trembling torso. Even though it was the middle of the day I had never seen the city look so dim. Just like I had done time and time again the sun had decided to do a no-call-no-show and leave me here in this lonely state of depression.
I decided to cut down an alley way to keep hidden from the random passerby for my work here was not done. Two cuts on the arm would not be enough evidence of a violent attack in the streets. I needed a head wound. The fake scenario I had been plotting in my head since the subway entrance went down like this; first I left out of my house and proceeded to casually walk to the subway just like I always do, next I would be approached by three or four eighteen-year-olds demanding me to empty my pockets, finally I would get whacked over the head my a blunt object forever obscuring my memory of the exact details of the incident. Flawless right? But there were no blunt objects around. No baseball bats or tire irons to repeatedly bash my head with. I needed to act, and fast because my arm was now leaving a trail of blood in my tracks and I could feel myself starting to lose consciousness. That’s when it became clear what my last and final option was.
I remembered back to when we first moved to this city after the incident at the carnival in Maple Shade, New Jersey. I was in 7th grade and known as the “New Kid” at Roosevelt Middle School located in the Germantown section of the city. In Math class the obnoxious kid sitting next to me asked where I was from. When I replied that I recently moved to this city from New Jersey this ignorant girl behind me asked, “Why you talk all like a white boy?” From that moment on I knew I would be doomed in that school. Maybe once a week at my New Jersey school this would be a class clown doing their best to make the class laugh and veer off from whatever topic the teacher was trying to teach. Here it was everyday. Nothing was learned as my classmates joked around all day and flung rubber bands at each other mid lecture. I did my best to stay brave and motivated to get through these hard times until one day when I was leaving to go home. I was walking down the side of the school when I was pulled back by the top handle of my backpack and simultaneously knocked upside my head by an upperclassman. I swung back one time, connecting right on his chin, when I noticed four more bodies rushing towards me. My gut instinct jumped in as I took off running. I ran nonstop 15 minutes until I was safe in front of my door huffing and puffing with a large lump forming on my head.
While standing in an alley way I looked around in every direction as I was surrounded by nothing but brick houses. About two blocks away from the hospital now I stumbled to the side of a random house, cocked my neck and head away, and repetitious pounded the upper left side of my skull into the ruggedly rough surface of the house for an anonymous amount of times until everything gradually begin to fade to black. With blood completely covering my left eye and darkness beginning to overcome my right I used every last bit of strength to keep my legs moving in the right direction. The streets were surprisingly empty on this Wednesday morning as there was not a single soul in site to help guide my way to the safest place I could possibly be at the time. I let out a sigh of relief upon reaching and entering the hospital and being hurriedly greeted by employees to whose ranks are unknown. The last thing I remembered as they put me on the safe mattress was mumbling something about being viciously attacked on my way to work.
The doctor finally strolls into the room after about a half hour of waiting and delivers to me the results to my MRI, that I vaguely remember going through, as well as a dozen other papers filled with information on concussions. He informs me of my concussion and rejoices in the fact that its the only bad news he has to give. No internal bleeding, brain swelling, or any other life threatening issues for that matter. I can barely comprehend the slurred words coming from the doctor as my mind is almost exclusively in another world thinking about how I got here and what I am to do next. Just over the doctors shoulder I can roughly see that the time is nearing 2:30pm. Over four hours late for work and haven’t even thought to call them back. That is until the doctor finishes up his lecture and escapes to get my discharge papers printed out and my phone starts ringing… Mom.
It’s hard growing up with a single parent working multiple jobs to support their children. It is even harder when they finally take on a significant other who brings nothing to the table. I can confidently say that I have made more money in the past five years than my mother’s husband has made in the past six. I remember when times were really bad and he was addicted to heroin shooting up whenever he could until he was penniless. Often times he would steal money from my siblings and I to have enough money to support his needs. He had always been overweight, averaging about 350 pounds, but as his drug problem increased his weight decreased. At one point he could barely fit into any of clothes and my mother of course would have to buy him new ones. Every now and then my mother would kick him out for a day or two, but once they finally got married I knew that nothing was going to change. He got so close with my mother that she even allowed him to take on full responsibility of physically punishing us for minor offenses. Through his physical and verbal abuse, drug problems, and lack of effort he put into the household I grew to strongly hate him with all my heart. He was a leach sucking the life out of my family.
I am now trying to do the impossible – forgive and forget noticing that I have been a bit of a hypocrite. When I had jobs in the past all of my money would go to alcohol, marijuana and cigarettes. I failed out of college and therefore had no major responsibilities in life. When I would lose my job, either by being fired due to likenesses or simply quitting due to laziness, I would still feel the need to be alive which I could only do in a different state. In between jobs if I wasn’t high or drunk I would act like a corpse waiting for the next moment I could borrow money from a family member so that I could be resurrected and finally feel alive again spending my nights sorrowing in dive bars or smoking weed alone by myself in basement. How can I say I’m better than my mother’s husband when I have know will to better my lifestyle? I have no idea what I want to be when I grow older. Every time I try to think that far I think about the failure that constantly finds me whenever I try to do right. The college classes that I will eventually stop caring for, the job that I will have no will to continue to wake up for, and the impossible future of me someday finding happiness will forever haunt me.
Depression has caused me to give up hope on a successful future and to do whatever it takes to escape from this reality and road trip, via alcohol or marijuana, into an alternate reality amongst my neighbors in Depression-ville. Hearing stories about others who have had an extremely troubled past is one of the main things that help me get through each day. Maybe one day I will come across that the woman, that one job, that one moment that will eventually propel out from the shadows and into a new life where I can see things clearly. Where I will stop doubting my every action and finally be able to see the glass as half-full. What you have read are just a few incidents among hundreds that have cursed my life. Each time I somehow came up with an elaborate plan inflicting damage on myself to gain sympathy from others just to avoid getting myself into further trouble. Maybe I’m just being a big baby that needs to man up and get over all of the little things that have happened. It’s hard when I some times find myself fearing to go to bed each night knowing that the horrific nightmares, that will leave my bed and body drenched in sweat, sit and wait for me to enter through the front doors that lock right behind me. If only I could just say “ One-Two-Three wake up!” and its all over. However, nightmares, just like life, are not that easy.
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