A fish-eye view of depression and anxiety - potentially triggering. Imagine a small, round fish bowl, just big enough for a single freshwater fish - a layer of fine silt at the bottom of the tank, covered over with a layer of gravel. Clean, fresh, water fills the bowl, a couple of small plants oxygenate the water, and a few flakes of food drift lazily across the mirror smooth surface. The fish , utterly disinterested in the food, circles around, bored with the repetitive cycle of its life. It has so many things it wants to do - if only it wasnt a fish, imprisoned in this small bowl. Instead, the fish spends its days looking out of the sides of the bowl, observing the world go by with polite interest, trapped within its clear glass walls, unable to communicate properly with those on the outside. It sees everyone else doing interesting things - holding down satisfying jobs, having healthy relationships, enjoying time spent socialising. Its deeply envious of everyone outside the bowl who seems to have so much freedom, and so much fun. Occasionally, the fish tries to get the attention of those on the outside. Perhaps if it could just make everyone else see how tedious and empty life was, someone out there on the outside could help. But its fruitless -sure, the fish can open and close its mouth, and flick its fins, and swim frantically back and forth in order to catch the attention of outsiders, but when it does, they just stare in utter incomprehension. Still, these people mean well - they care about the fish, and theyll notice its agitation without knowing the cause. Theyll try to solve the problem without knowing what it is - throwing in a little more food, that uneaten, adds to the clutter and slowly dirties the water, leading it to become filthier and filthier until the fish cant even see the way out anymore. Perhaps if it could take that drastic leap out of the water, and shout out into the air rather its words being muffled by the water, it could finally be understood – but of course, there is just as much chance that the fish would jump, but never be able to return to the relative safety of the water – instead, falling just outside the bowl, gasping desperately as life drains from its body. And if that fish could be understood, all it would say is that it longs, desperately with every ounce of its being, to be free from the fish-bowl, to join the human world, communicate freely with other humans and escape the boredom and emptiness of its own, pointless life. The tank is my brain. The fish is me. And this is depression. It might seem odd to use a metaphor where I live inside my brain, rather than my brain living inside me, but honestly sometimes it feels like I occupy my own brain to the extent where the real world seems less real. The me that is my thoughts and feelings is different to the me that the outside world sees. Sure, I open my mouth and gesticulate wildly with my hands, but the truth is, the people I speak to never quite understand what I mean. Its like Im using google translate to go from fish language to people language, but all that gets across is mangled Engrish that makes no sense to anyone. It might be manageable if depression was all it was. But there is anxiety too. Adding anxiety to the mix (because it is a separate condition, though many people suffer from both) is like having a whirlpool suddenly start up in my little eco system. Suddenly, I cant see the layers of gravel, silt, and water – all I see is everything churned up and whirling around me, one brown cloud of confusion with everything mixed up together in one big old nonsensical mess. I know the gravel is there, as every so often I feel a physical pain as a piece slams into my side, whilst I am battered around in the centre of the whirlpool, confused and utterly at a loss as to where I can find safety. And of course, with the bowl being circular, there is no safe corner for me, no space where I can hunker down with my back to the swirling threat, closing my eyes and wishing it away. So I resign myself, and allow myself to be battered about until the water suddenly, for no discernible reason, becomes calm again. Exhausted, drained, I sink to the bottom of the tank, resting my belly on the gravel, and dream of what peace and happiness feel like, whilst living in fear of the next whirlpool. Sometimes I wish people could understand what being me feels like. But then I unwish it, because to really understand, theyd have to go through this themselves, and it isnt something Id wish on anyone. Perhaps one day Ill gather my last remaining bit of courage, and make that one, desperate leap into the air. Without the barrier of water, perhaps Ill finally shout out loud enough to be understood. Or perhaps Ill die. But not today.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Dec 2014 15:54:15 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015