A Beginner’s Guide to Major Depression

I. Remember the plate hitting the floor and shattering from when you were 4. The anger that was never yours to receive, the hand that held the plate, the fear that settled into your bones, remember all of it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it should make a nest as fragile as your fingers picking up the pieces — pieces that you didn’t know wouldn’t just be the plates, would eventually be your heart somewhere when you’re 22.

II. When you’re 7, start asking yourself if the pain living in the handprint on your cheek is the same as the one in your heart you feel every single day. Start asking yourself what to name the feeling that rests in your stomach. By 15, you’ll call it loneliness and by 22, you’ll forget how to get rid of it.

III. By the time 10 comes around, you should have read every book in your house. You should know every story by heart, you should know happy endings exist in the lines on the pages only. You should accept that losing yourself in these books for a little while is the only way to let yourself breathe. By 22, you’ll have enough books to burn yourself in.

IV. 13 should come with the first time you try to kill yourself and make it alive still. Regret and guilt should be knocking on your door by then. You’re young and stupid and trying to kill yourself shouldn’t be this difficult but it is. It’ll be almost a decade after this that you’ll regret not succeeding the first time. By then, you’ll already be dead in ways that truly would have mattered.

V. In between 14 and 15, you should fall in love for the first time. The first person who shows you kindness; turn their eyes into sonnets and their hands into odes. Let them take you for granted and spend the next 7 years trying to prove your love is enough to have them love you back. When the 7 years are up, remember them saying your grace is the closest thing to perfection and live to cherish every ounce of love you gave and every ounce you wish they would give themselves.

VI. When you’re 16, you should find yourself a family away from blood. Find one that feels like truly coming home. Find one that gives you the little bit of happiness that’s going to sustain you for a few more years. At 22, let god take it away from you and replace it with grief the kind you’ve never felt before.

VII. At 17, make a friend you adore. Tell him everything. Tell him you’re scared to live alone. Tell him you wish you weren’t so fragile. Tell him you’re tired of being alive. Tell him you want to live but you feel like dying. Tell him you don’t know if you can hold on any longer. Let him promise you that he’ll stand with you while you save yourself. And then, let him walk away without a word. Let him plant seeds of doubt in your head about yourself. Let him make you believe you’re meant to be abandoned. By 22, a handful of people will have walked away from you. You’ll know by then that you’re at the heart of the problem. You can’t change that. Live with it.

VIII. 18 must cripple you. At 18, there must be a mouthful of prescription pills to fix your anxiety and another handful for the depression that won’t go anywhere no matter how hard you try. Try and talk to someone. Let your throat clog and your teeth clench. Decide that talking isn’t for you. Try again. Fail. Try again. Fail. Try again. Fail. Give up. By 22, you’ll be wired to shut up despite the screams living in your throat.

IX. Be happy when you’re 19. Or try to be at least. Work. Drown yourself in it. Find a sense of accomplishment to replace the dread of living another day that’s now a part of you. You should be good to go for another year, at least. Find something that drives you crazy. Make a living out of it. Tell yourself you’re fine like this. You’ve got it. At 22, you’ll realise the illusions you created for yourself and the price you now pay for them.

X. 20 and 21, pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Smile. Laugh. Work. Achieve. Repeat. You’re okay. You’ll be okay. Ignore everything else. There’s no time to process. Let people leave. Let things happen. No dealing. Bottle it up. Don’t talk about what hurts. You’re alone. You’ll be fine. Help as much as you can. Fix things for other people. Cry when they do. Cry for them. Exhaust yourself to fix the world. Exhaust yourself to give some peace to those who need it. It’s okay if you couldn’t do it for yourself. It doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. They do. Let yourself be walked over. Let yourself be burnt out. Let yourself deplete every single ounce of energy you have. You’re okay.

XI. Wish 22 to be your last. Realise that you’ve spent your entire life making all the wrong decisions for yourself. Realise and let go. Find yourself tired. Find yourself drained. Find yourself waking up every day wanting to die. 22 will have you in love. 22 will have you desperate and haunted and insane — trying to prove over and over and over again that you’re trying to hold on, that you care and you love the people you do. 22 will have you fail again. You’ll have a good life. The monsters in your house are gone. You’ll have a chance to be happy. But the monsters in your head have made a permanent home. At 22, you’ll find yourself trying to explain over and over and over and over again that you’re fragile. You need to be dealt with gently for a while. But you’ve been strong for so long, nobody will believe you. You’ll find yourself alone again. Failing again. Desperately wishing you’d have made different choices. Desperately wishing you could be human again. 22 will have you on the ground, head pressed against the tile — crying for someone to listen and understand and save you from yourself. 22 will have you realise you’ve made a monster out of yourself. It’s time to let go.

XII. 23 is less than a quarter of a year away. It’s almost here. You might not live to see it. Try to still. Try to see it still. Try to stay alive despite it all. 21 and 4 and 9 and 15 and 17 and 10 and 6 and 12 and 13 and 16 and 18 and 20 and 11 and all the years in between are gone. They’re not coming back. They passed. What stayed is the dread, what never went away is the depression lining your stomach and your throat and your ribs. What continues to torment you is the anxiety at the edges of your trembling fingertips, the tears pooling in your eyes, and the frustration you have made friends with over time. 23 is almost here. It might never arrive.