Dedicated to.. | Chapter 2: Depression
A Collection of Short Stories on the Flower That Grew From Concrete
This morning wasn’t unlike the others, but I dreaded it just the same.
For the third night in a row, I slept with my unfolded laundry on my bed.
To any onlooker or observer, my bedroom shows signs of depression. But to me, it’s just as it’s always been.
“Trey, clean your room!” Mom always used to demand.
I hated the command because, to me, my room was always clean.
I like to call it organized chaos.
But I guess that’s depression — chaos.
Oddly, as the pile of laundry builds up on my bed, I feel more at ease. It reminds me of childhood. When the clutter of chaos provided comfort that I couldn’t find outside my bedroom walls.
As an introvert, my ‘depression nest’ was my safe place for reclusive moments.
Lately, those moments have been more prevalent.
I’ve found sleep to be the best escape — it helps when you’re wedged between piles of clothes. For those brief hours, I don’t exist, and neither any of my worries.
Now that I think about it, no wonder depression naps were a hallmark of my college experience.
I scheduled my classes around my napping time and not the other way around.
I had my priorities in order, that’s for sure.
Looking back at it, you can say I was depressed for a lot of college.
If I wasn’t drinking, I was sleeping, and the moments when I wasn’t doing either seemed to drag.
Did the alcohol fuel my depression-induced naps? Or was it the other way around?
College, it’ll really make you a lethargic alcoholic before you even realize it. But do I regret it? That’s the real question, right? Nope, not at all. Why would I regret the memories I don’t even remember? Or those that I slept through?
If anything, I regret the self-neglect.
But I’ll never regret that my coping behavior was a symptom of the same illness I confided in.
Although therapy is teaching me how to forgive myself.
“Trey, you don’t have to hold onto your past mistakes. Let go of your old self. It isn’t who you are today,” my therapist mentioned in one of our sessions.
As accurate as her statement may be, it’s hard for me to see any difference from then to now.
“This is just the start of your journey,” I have to tell myself.
Nowadays, some days are slower than others, but today, I want nothing to do but just lay. No motions, no thoughts — only vibes.
When everything is go-go-go around me, internally, I want to do nothing.
Go! But go for what? Disappointment? Exhaustion? To be another pawn in the capitalistic rat race that fuels our society? Nah, I’m good. I’ll just lay right here. I’m already late for work. What are another five or ten minutes laying in despair?
I guess you can say that’s depression, too, as I look over at the two empty beer cans that sit on the coffee table next to my bed.
But these are adult beers, I tell myself. It’s unlike college, “You’re an adult now, Trey, these are IPA’s” as a part of my inner monologue. I guess it makes me feel better about drinking them.
Who doesn’t like a nice little IPA nightcap?
I digress.
Or so I think.
I think I’ve gotten off the topic…
Ah yes, we were talking about depression.
DEDICATED TO..
is a collection of flash fiction short stories on the stages of life we grow through, the battle of youthfulness, and the transition into adulthood.