content warning: graphic depictions self-harm; mild cursing; mild reference to an abusive relationship; ends in a positive note
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Once you get the hang of taking your medications religiously, never missing a beat, like it’s second nature, depression starts acting like a wild animal on a leash. A very tight leash. The Babadook metaphor is surprisingly accurate – it’s a monster you keep in your basement, a monster you’re constantly afraid of, but has gotten used into dominating.
It’s quiet, usually, but sometimes, it growls. Usually you’re too busy to notice its eyes on you. Usually, you’re too happy to care. Due to your ignorance and lack of response, it usually ends with just a growl.
But sometimes, its growls echoes at the back of your head while you’re laughing at a joke your friend makes. And suddenly, you’re painfully aware of its presence. It starts walking in circles, triumphant in its efforts to nab your attention, stalking you, eyes never wavering as it slowly marks its territory around your head. And before you know it, every step it takes starts to feel heavier in your chest.
It becomes irritable, agitated, restless, gaining energy as your eyes drop to the floor, and your feet drags you around. You know what’s happening – it’s happened so many times, of course you know – but you never know what to do, how to tame it, how to get it to quiet down.
It starts jumping, barking, biting. And you think, for just a moment, maybe loosening your leash on it will calm it down. Maybe giving it a bigger space to walk around in will make it happy. Despite your better judgement, you start wanting to make it happy, because it has become too distracting that you’re desperate enough to do anything to make it shut up.
But that was your biggest mistake. More room to walk around in means more space to jump and lash out.
Then, it begins to howl at the top of its lungs.
That’s when you stop functioning – you stop focusing on reviewing for your exam, you stop writing your paper due tomorrow, you stop finishing a group project – because the howls are deafening.
It screams, “what’s the point?!”
“What’s the fucking-
p o i n t?!”
With hands blocking your ears, tears threatening to drop to your cheeks, you unleash it. You hope for the love of god that since it’s free, it’ll run far far away from you and bother someone else.
(At this point you begin to notice that every thing you do to stop it actually makes it worse.)
Instead of leaving, like you expected a normal wild animal to do, it stays. It stalks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, glowing eyes never looking away from you.
It bares its teeth while it growls. It wants to bite your arm, scratch your skin, tear your flesh away and feast on you. You can feel it.
You look at your hands. At the blade a few feet away from you.
The monster growls louder, “Do it”.
And you know it’s up to you. You know that the moment you let it, the moment you decide to put down your defenses, it’ll pounce on you and have its way.
Sometimes, you’re strong enough to snap out of its trance. And you put your foot down and shout at it to go back to the basement where it belongs.
But sometimes… sometimes, it wins.
And once it’s done with you, and you’re hugging the bruises and cuts, crying small sobs while hiding in the corner trying to make yourself as small as you possibly can, it walks slowly towards you, turning into a black, misty fog, and with a calmness that you don’t expect from the same thing that bit you, it wraps you in a warm, heavy embrace.
And no matter how wild or rabid that monster is, no matter how much it bruises you, it’s that unexpected kindness in the end – that warm embrace that you’ve been yearning for but that no one has ever given aside from that thing – that makes you decided to keep it again the next morning.
You have no idea how to get rid of it. And you know it’ll take a long long time before this thing gets bored and gets rid of you. So you try your best to make its stay in your head a little more tolerable.
You ask other people how they manage their own dogs.
You take your medicine as your doctors instructed, and it makes it easier for you to snap out of it.
You learn its weaknesses the longer it stays – what songs make it whimper in pain, what words make it stop barking, what tone of voice you should use to make it bow to you.
Sometimes, you forget. One day you’re perfectly fine, and the next, you’re under its trance once again. And before you know it, there are scratches on your arm after months of being clean.
But through time, after many, many opportunities to face it time and time again, you finally feel the progress.
One day, when it growls, you give it one look and it stops.
One day, when it stares at you, you’ll no longer feel the intensity behind its glowering eyes.
One day, when it howls, you no longer feel like it’s too deafening, too distracting. One day, it will feel like music to your ears.
And maybe one day, when you unleash it, it’ll finally turn into that black misty fog, and never return.
Author’s note: So it’s finals week, and I couldn’t focus because this thing has been barking around in my head. I wrote this in the hopes that its howls will die down enough for me to be able to study again.