Phantom Depression

Depression is a common mental disorder that leads to severe despondency and feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy. It is caused by a low amount of serotonin in the brain, but there can be other triggers such as a serious life event or being unable to control unpleasant experiences*. For me, I suppose there was a huge life event that I can't avoid and I can't try and convince myself it didn't happen, the memory follows and around and haunts me like a ghost, and however hard I try to turn my back on it I can no longer believe that Sherlock is still alive. But surely all of this is just because I am in mourning? How can you tell the difference between sadness after a life event and depression? How does my therapist know how much serotonin I have? She doesn't, of course she has no idea, she's just guessing, trying to find something wrong with me out of spite. I don't think she ever liked me.

I sit at the table in the kitchen and stare down at the packet of antidepressants I have been given to help cure this phantom depression. I've been taking these tablets for about a week now, positive that nothing would actually change because of this medication. I know me, and I don't have depression, so they'll make no difference to my mind.

But I was wrong, they've made things worse.

Before I thought I was feeling sad, lost, in mourning, and I thought that things couldn't get any worse for me. But they have. My mood has taken a turn for the worse and I can feel something eating away at my heart, a terrible darkness that will not leave me be. Not even sleep can bring salvation, because sleep has become impossible.

My therapist told me to eat, but I can't eat. It's like I've been starving for so long I forget what it feels like to feel hungry, at first I tried to eat as much food as I could stomach, but I've given up now. I don't even have the motivation to swallow.

I've never been like this in my life, never before have I felt so low, never before has my mind been so dark, my soul infected with this terrible disease of sadness. I just shut myself away, lock the door and pull the curtains tight around the window, I don't let any natural light into the room as if it will burn me. But then I just sit alone and curse myself for acting like such a fool and a coward, and I hate myself even more.

Why should I feel like this? I'm being so selfish, to think that I am suffering so much, when there are many who have suffered a lot more than I ever will. Those who live in poverty, rape victims, people beaten and taunted because of who they are, people who have had terrible accidents and illnesses that fate cannot explain. To list all of them who have experienced a life worse than mine would take hours, and I don't have the motivation. Why should I shroud myself in self pity when nothing has happened to me? When truly I should be grateful for all the things that I still do have? I'm being such a fool.

This isn't who I am. It's these tablets, this damn medication that I don't need so they're making me feel an emotion beyond misery. What's the point in taking these things if they're only going to make me worse?

I refuse to go to the doctor and I don't talk to my therapist. She has made our sessions more frequent but I have missed them all so far, her concern can be heard whenever the shrill landline phone begins to ring, and I try my best to ignore it. But doing so makes me feel strangely guilty, like I'm letting someone down. In the end I unplug it so I my dark thoughts are no longer distracted by the phone. I'm even more alone than I was before.

I look down at the packet of pills in my hand with a growing sense of resentment, it was only when I started taking these drugs that things have got so much worse and so far not any better. I am even more listless and irritable than before, and when I close my eyes I still see the empty, dead eyes of my best friend staring up at me.

No, agreeing to take this medication was a bad idea, I'm better off without it.

I stand up suddenly, as if gripped by a sudden motivation to actually do something in my life. But it doesn't get me very far, I only walk over to the bin.

There was nothing wrong with me, I only changed when I started taking these tablets. If I get rid of the medication, I can go back to the way I was before, because I'm not ill, I'm just in mourning, and I shall mourn on my own terms.

I am not sick.

I threw the box of pills in the bin and walked away.

*This is not an exact definition of depression, there are lots of different psychological and biological explanations (according to my psychology textbook), this is just John's point of view.

Apparently anti-depressants can cause depression, so this was where I was trying to go with in this chapter. Once again I couldn't think of a very good name for this chapter either, so suggestions for better ones will be appreciated :)

If anyone's interested I've just finished writing another Sherlock story called 'The Darkest Moments' which looks at the thoughts and emotions of characters after Sherlock 'died'. Some of the thoughts are quite similar to what is seen in this story to, so feel free to have a read :)

Only 1 review for the last chapter! :(