Being depressed is a terrible burden, and there’s a lot to be said on that subject: something I’m not personally capable of getting into at length, and something I’m sure others on other websites could delve into in more detail. But I have something to say about the burden itself.
To be depressed is to endure an awful pain, but a pain that’s silent and secret. Invisible. Trying to cope and just do everyday normal things like function, and the strain and exhaustion you suffer that no one outside understands or comprehends.
It’s hard enough when you have to put on an act for a loved one, like a spouse or partner. Or when you have to pretend everything is fine while you’re at work. It’s another thing entirely when there are children.
Children are high energy. They are sponges, absorbing everything they see and hear. They may not understand complex issues like depression but they can pick up on even subtle hints that something is wrong and this can influence heir mood, behavior, and personality.
I love my kids. I wish I wasn’t battling depression so that I could enjoy this very important time in their lives. I hate being sick and I hate being this kind of sick and all I want to do is rip this negativity out of me and kill it, but it doesn’t work that way. It isn’t that easy. It isn’t controlled by a switch I can turn off.
Instead it’s me on my day off, struggling to get myself out of bed in the morning so I can take my kids out for the day. But oh how all I want to do is sleep. I don’t want to get up, get dressed, have breakfast, take them to the pool or to a movie or anywhere. I just want to lay down, close my eyes, and wish the world away.
And they see that. They absorb that and then they get lethargic. They lay around and do nothing.And I’m a terrible father and a terrible person because I allow it to happen. I can’t be bothered to put any effort into my own children, what a monster I am.
So I dread each week I have time off with my kids because it’s just another day that everything could go wrong and we end up doing absolutely nothing with our lives. Deep down I want to fight it, I know I do, but I also know how easy it is for the depression to win.
Maybe the answer isn’t it to ignore that fear, but to embrace it. Maybe the fear of my kids turning out like me will be enough to propel me to take action.
Somewhat native denizens of the plane of Depression, nothlings are once-children that have lost their way, lured by the strange comfort depression offers. Over time their bodies twist and stretch, they become hunched with long, thin limbs. They are grey-skinned, with eyes of solid yellow, and tiny mouths filled with sharp fangs. It is easy to confuse them with goblins, but they are more feral and lack even the poor organizational structure of goblinkind. Often they travel in packs, but occasionally they can be found alone. At first they may appear to possess childlike innocence, but this is a ruse, meant to lure prey close; they are vicious and it is far too late to save them from their depression, as it has consumed them heart, mind and soul.
When they are slain they break apart like paper, crumbling to dust.