It’s a hard thing to describe, depression. You’d think it was being sad, wouldn’t you? Being sad for months and months, all at once, all tear-stains on the pillow and howling with misplaced grief. But it’s not that. That’s too concrete. Depression is abstract. It is a vacuum. It is a storm that starts as drizzle and sweeps into a hurricane until everything is washed away, and you are left as a yawning chasm. There is nothing left. Depression is staring at walls for hours on end, trying wearily to muster up the will to feel something, anything – depression is nothingness. It is as much grey as it is black, and it is hollow. That’s the best way I can describe it. It takes you apart and puts you back together again with nothing inside, and it makes you watch from the sidelines. You are no longer an active participant in your own life. You are a bystander, watching as things happen but dully; you do not feel, you do not care, and you do not cry. Until you do, of course, because even depression can’t make a robot out of you, and when it is released, the catharsis is frightening. It’s shocking. It’s sobbing for eight hours and gasping for air for nine; it’s tears that come so fast you can’t count them on the fingers of the crowds who don’t care. It’s knowing that everything is wrong, but that you are the most wrong thing of all. It’s knowing that you are an abomination. That you are worthless, and empty, and you deserve to be. Depression is a best friend and a worst enemy. It is a cavern and a mountain. It is everything and nothing.
Don’t forget we have to wake up Green Day tomorrow.
Ok just a reminder to everyone: If you’re planning on tweeting billie joe armstrong “wake up” or something tomorrow, DON’T. The song is about his father’s death and so it’s really personal and treating it like a joke isn’t the right thing to do. Plus he’s asked so many times for people to stop and no one listens so yeah. Please don’t do that.