the room seems to be moving at the same speed of that of a vinyl. The room expands and contracts with every 360 turn. I clutch to the ends of my bed sheets scared to fall out of my bed from the rapid spinning.
“It’s alright,” I tell myself, “everything is going to be OK.”
My vision goes pitch black for the second time again, falling into another deep slumber. I don’t feel tired, I don’t feel fatigue, I feel empty. The same emptiness you feel when you are starving, but this empty hunger did not reside in my stomach, it came from the depths of myself. It’s like not being able to shake the nasty bug out of my brain as it switches my nerves on and off like a strobe light on rapid fire. I try again and again to escape this cage, but it is difficult when that cage is me. How do you escape yourself?
I was 11 years old when I was met with my diagnoses.
“Ma’am, she does not need anger management. She has depression.“
I could still hear the thick Indian accent unravel my deepest self better than I ever could at that time. My mother and I could not fathom the truth behind my anger. My mother thought I was just lashing out and starting my rebellious stage. I thought so too.
The world started making sense. The sky was still blue, the grass still stained my white nikes the way they always did, so, what was life for me going to be like now that I know I was diagnosed with depression? The gray fog wasn’t physically there, but rather, it enloped my head making it hard to search for a single positive thought in this big head of mine.
Now, as a person livng amongst the adult world, I still have the hazy fog appear at the worst and best of times. Except this time, I am equipped with a car with bright fog lights. I can see through the fog clearer. Sometimes I even race the fog to the end of my street. So far, I always win.