*Shannon's POV*
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
As soon as I woke up, I knew what type of day I'd be having. My eyes opened, and I could feel them blinking, yet I was struggling to see. Everything was foggy.
Just fog.
And more fog.
Nothing but fog.
Imagine your brain is a battlefield. With two clear sides; a hero and a villain. The villain has just turned off the switch to your physical and cognitive abilities, and now the hero must try to revive you.
You're alive, yet feel detached from your own body. Your head is no longer yours. Your brain is your last living organ. You are no longer a human, a mere organ within a corpse, a lifeless figure with fog clouding your thoughts, something that never seems to disappear.
That's what catatonic depression feels like. One day, you'd wake up like a human; lively, happy, ready to succeed. The next, you would be unable to move. You'd internally scream at your body, plead at it to GET UP, yet the paralysis is unconquerable.
My mind started to clear throughout the day, like a drug wearing off an addicted soul. I started to notice noise, like whispers, but they would disappear periodically. Finally, most of my senses had returned.
My eyes were trained on a navy blue wall and I noticed a worn paint mark, likely from repainting over a hole in the wall. My brain had now reactivated, but my body was still failing me. It always failed me.
I tried to rip my eyes away from the wall. The frustration and anger I had with my body made me want to smash my fist through the wall, yet I couldn't even do that. I couldn't even change my line of sight.
In these catatonic moments, moments where my brain was alive, yet my body was dead, I felt the pure devastation and empathy for individuals who had to suffer through paralysis every day of their life. From paraplegics and quadriplegics, to catatonic schizophrenics, people with permanent catatonic depression, and any individual that suffered through anything like it. It was a horrible feeling. The feeling that you cannot control your own body, cannot move you own arm.
My catatonia was usually followed by a suicidal wave.
Why live like this?
You're just a burden on society.
You're better off dead.
My body hadn't yet awoken from it's catatonic state, yet I knew these thoughts would flood me as soon as it did. Sometimes, I even thought I'd be better off staying in such a state. I wouldn't be able to hurt myself. I'd just be there.
My senses had returned and I started to make out some recognisable scents. First, I breathed in the perfect smell of my favourite coffee blend, followed by a strong, sweet, chicken odour. I didn't try to resist. I knew I couldn't get to them.
Someone entered the room and started speaking, and I recognised the buttery-soft voice as Lindsay's. Jess must have left her to look after me again.
How would I be able to explain this?
Sure, last time I was just sad, sick, smiled at a dirty magazine, and she cheered me up. It's what she wanted to hear. However, this time I couldn't smile, couldn't respond, couldn't explain.
"Do you need some medicine? Painkillers?" I heard her ask.
No! Don't look for medicine. Please, Lindsay, don't find it!
I could hear her move around the room, her good heart looking for something to make me feel better. Death. Death would make me feel better.
There were those suicidal thoughts I had warned of. Back for another round.
"What's Zoloft?" Lindsay mumbled.
My stomach dipped, flipped, and I couldn't control a thing. I couldn't run at Lindsay and smack the bottle out of her hand. I couldn't scream at her to draw her attention away for the contents of the little orange pill bottle.
"Zoloft: a drug in the SSRI's group, is commonly used to treat major depression," she read, and I broke.
I broke.
The tears made it hard to see as I couldn't control the pace, nor the continuous flow of them rolling down my cheeks.
They drained from my eyes like raindrops racing down a window during a storm.
I felt a sudden hit of warmth. Arms, wrapped around my curled-up figure.
Lindsay.
She hugged me tighter than anyone before. Her breathing helped me to calm, her closeness reassuring me that everything was okay, that I was okay.
Yet, that enormous monster was still raging war in my mind.
You'll never be good enough.
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Stay safe xx
- T.J Starc