I’m not clinically depressed nor do I believe I am. I do not think the sad moments in my life define as being depressed. I imagine it to be a rather unhealthy mindset. But that’s the way I was raised. That’s how my environment was, growing up.

Being a 6 foot, taller than normal, “fat” guy I was taught to keep my head straight, never show a tear and never show weakness. During my first years I was quite the “cry baby”. My mom would tell me that you could look me the wrong way and I’d start wailing like a siren. Oddly enough I remember the exact day I stopped being that “weak”.

I came home from school after getting my usual dose of education. I was the type of kid who got so excited about getting an answer right, he’d raise a hand just to announce It. I came home to an empty sitting room and the usual arguments from my parent’s room. My dad came out of the room fuming and clashed with me on his stampede out the door to indulge in his nicotine mistress.

I ran to my room and as usual cried my eyes out. But unlike every other day, no one came to calm me down. I spent the whole day sitting in my corner crying looking at the door waiting for someone to come save me. No one did. I could hear people outside. I could hear my dad come back and talk to my mom like they weren’t at each other’s throat a minute ago and my sister talk to her “Kanmathi” friend on her new camera flip phone. But no one heard me cry.

I stopped after that day. Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes I tear up even now. You’d have to cut a limb or something to get me there these days.

I think I’ve traded what I see as weakness with what I see as tough. Cigarettes and being an angry person. When I’m having a low or as some people put it “depressive episode” I freeze. I step out of my shoes. I forget that I have responsibilities. I forget that I don’t have a lot of money. I just phase out. I go out spend like there’s no tomorrow, smoke my lungs like I’m a damn car exhaust and I force attention towards myself. I leave breadcrumbs for my friends, my family and anyone I know to let them know I’m in pain.

This time last Thursday I was in my room covered in fairy lights staring at a razor. I found peace in that razor. I felt calm because of it. I wasn’t going to do anything with it. I don’t think I have suicidal thoughts or anything. But the razor felt strangely familiar.

Well now that I think about it. I think I do it for the door to open. An imaginary one. For someone to come bashing in to save me. To tell me everything will be okay, and to pick me up. But the doors been closed for a while now and I’ve been crying the whole day.

 

This article speaks volumes on why you should check on your friends and family members who seem to be off. Call your friend whose missing out on hangouts. Call your cousin you haven’t heard from for a while. Be the person who opens that door.

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