Depression is Real

 

I felt like I was on slow motion in the middle of a fast forward movie. Everyone passing me at full speed sitting around smiling trying to engage in small talk with family members & my attention span was at an all time low.

 

 Listening to the first two or three words then drifting into deep thought trying to avoid looking at the casket where my father's body laid to rest attempting to re-call my first memory with my father. All I could come up with "why is this person talking to me about stupid shit?" & I hadn't spoken to my dad for an about a year before his death. I knew nothing about him & it all just felt so strange to me.  I spent a majority of my life feeling so much anger towards him & at that very moment how I wish things could have been different.

 

My father let depression get the best of him. People have been telling me my whole life how much I'm just like my father if only they knew how true that statement reaches me to the core. To look at photos of him during his last days I could see the pain in his face. It's not the father I knew in those photos. The handsome man women threw themselves at when I was younger. He just stopped. He refused medication, avoided help, wouldn't answer any calls & he just didn't want to live.

 

Somehow I can't help but feel that I contributed to his depression eventually leading to his death. Depression is real. It is a disease & may not be controllable as some people may think it is.

JUDGE FREE ZONE.