There are no designer mascara smudges, no lounging in negligee in the afternoon. No, it’s more a case of looking at a wall for hours, simply not here
What people often fail to mention about depression is how monotonous it can be. In movies and TV shows, female characters with mental illness are portrayed as lounging around in luxurious negligees, smoking and sipping wine, with just a hint of smudged mascara. But let's be real, no woman in her right mind would leave a small smudge on her face after meticulously applying makeup every day just to sit alone at home. Once those dark smudges appear on a woman's unpowdered cheeks, it's a clear sign that something is wrong and immediate help is needed.
On the other hand, male characters with depression are usually depicted as more active. They punch walls, eat at diners in the middle of the night while trying to solve a crime, engage in intense training sessions before a big fight, or brood over a breakup. They're too busy to cry. Instead of seeking therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder, Batman spends his inherited millions on planes and cars equipped with missiles. The man who witnessed his parents' murder is given a flamethrower and a mission to fight crime, rather than receiving the emotional support he truly needs. It's no wonder that men struggle with their mental health and find it difficult to seek help.
But for me, depression is none of those things. There's no lounging in a lace robe at noon, no drug binges, and no obvious signs of self-destruction like proclaiming on Instagram that I'm training for a marathon. There are no late-night calls to friends to unleash my unfiltered thoughts.
I try to understand those who suggest that all I need to do is go for a run to feel better. They're clinging to the illusion of control.
Depression, for me, is staring at a wall for hours on end, unable to engage in any form of entertainment. It's a feeling of dissociation, similar to when we were kids sitting through a long, boring Mass, gazing up at the lights and imagining which person they would crush if they were to suddenly fall on the congregation, instead of paying attention to the sermon about Jesus' love and the sanctity of life.
It's like those days between Christmas and New Year when you're unsure of what to do with yourself.
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