Waking up early again. Coffee and a cigarette. Waiting to talk to the doctor and the psychologist. Will it work out? Will they have the time and patience to listen to my complaints? Nobody knows how much I need this right now… I am suffering from unbearable thoughts and feelings. Demons are fighting me. How can I keep this inside?! I want to scream until I cry, to shout out loud: “People, help me! People, listen to me! I need your help.”
I can no longer distinguish what is real and what is a subjective reality drenched in depression. I want to know what’s wrong with me. Is there something wrong with me? Or is it just that the traumas I’ve encountered in life have taught me to react so intensely? Everything reminds me of this now. The smell of the nurse’s perfume awakens tormenting memories. Not just intellectually, but emotionally, and I can’t bear it anymore. I suffer from reminders of my traumas at every step. Traumas that I have diligently suppressed all these years in some drawer of the unconscious. But who knew that trauma wouldn’t pass my life by from a distance, without reminding me of its existence?
It reminds me of my mother, her violent actions, whether intentional or not. It reminds me of my father and the constant fear I felt towards him. It reminds me of his death, not just when I’m awake but even in my dreams. It reminds me of the pain, disappointment, and fears experienced in relationships. But don’t think this remembering is like a memory. No!!!!! This remembering is evil. It paralyzes my whole body so that I can’t move or speak. It only throws me into a world of pain where nothing exists but hatred, sadness, and fear. Fifteen minutes pass, and I return to earth, but I am exhausted and destroyed by the battle. I see the frightened faces of people who witnessed this episode, but my ability to comfort them has completely vanished somewhere. I want to tell them, “Don’t be afraid, I’m back,” but where are the words? Only a burst of crying replaces the words. When will this end??? Probably never, but at least it could be alleviated, couldn’t it? Where are you, peace? Where are you, help? How much longer must I wait for you?…
Again, dawn has broken as I write. Now it’s time for breakfast. The nurses will open the doors to the rooms and wake up the residents. The residents, who fell asleep under medication, will barely lift their heads from their beds and ask themselves: Another day has dawned, but for what? Why should I get up? Why should I still be alive? What is the meaning of my life? This question arises here for everyone, regardless of age.
Depression knows no age. It comes whenever it wants, in adolescence, adulthood, or old age. So this is a sign. I have companions of all ages here. There are those who even struggle to lift their arms and fight to raise their arms above their heads. Their own bodies remind them, “You’re old now,” and they sit down in the chair with regret, looking sadly at the rest of us as we stretch our spines and try to reach the ceiling with our hands.
Life here is interesting, interesting and tearfully sad. What is this depression, how far can the demons fight you and make you renounce your own life? Even when somewhere, in the corner of your heart, you still have a desire to live…
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