pain

Depression is a Thief

Artwork by Quirubin Boqueo

Depression is a thief.

She doesn’t care if it’s a happy memory, or one that brings a chill into my bones. A birthday party, or a family holiday, or the night I watched my home burn to the ground. She takes them all. She sneaks in when I least expect it and takes the memories without asking for permission. She doesn’t apologise for leaving me with shards that can never be put together. She doesn’t care that I will never be able to get them back.

Depression is funny like that.

It creeps into your bones slowly. The weight on your chest never quite lifts. You learn to breathe shallow, think over the pounding in your chest, swallow the sadness. You learn to hold your breath. Pick yourself up off the floor. Laugh when others are laughing. You learn to survive. You learn to be a person, despite not really feeling like one.

Depression is icy winter air that creeps in through the cracks in the window. It’s the rain that leaks from a faulty roof. Depression is a thief of happiness, of memories and moments.

However, there is one moment that depression cannot steal.

There is a moment just when you wake up in the morning. A beautiful, fleeting moment. Where everything is good. Everything is okay.

It’s only a second, before the crushing weight of your world makes itself a home inside your stomach for the day. It’s only a second, before all the problems and worries and tasks flood you. It’s only a second. And it’s the most glorious second of the day. Fuck, it’s the best second of your life.

That moment, that one little second, is the only thing that depression cannot take. It’s the only thing that I never want to forget.

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Prose by Lauren Ewertse

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