Narrative Essay On Depression

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When I was 12 years old I wondered why my mom would cry. When I was 13 years old I wondered why her eyes were empty. When I was 14 years old I asked her why. When I was 15 years old I heard her stories. When I was 16 years old I learned depression is real. When I was 17 years old I learned depression isn’t sadness. When I was 18 years old I learned the right words to say. When I was 19 I learned what words not to say. A thick, grey cloud sits above my house. And waits. Its presence is intense and I can feel it over me each time I walk into the door. I can sense happiness and I can sense sadness just through the smell and feel of the air surrounding me. Bodies don 't have to be present, I can feel the energy. Those who haven’t experienced this, …show more content…
No one knew, like many others that choose to hide their struggles, that once I stepped foot into my house I faced a mental battle, which most of the time wasn’t even my battle. I can understand sadness because I have been sad many times in my life, however, I cannot understand unhappiness. But I know that there are people that do and I know that I feel the effect of it. My own mom, who I always knew as the big, bright smile and warm hug that greeted me every time she picked me up from school understands it. It wasn’t until I was about 14 years old that I realized the grey cloud that hung over my home, was just the grey cloud that hung over her. No one surrounding her knew what she was facing, but it was hard not to notice when you lived together. It was like the energy of it captured you too and swallowed you up and poisoned your …show more content…
Unlike many diseases, the effects of depression are felt by more than just those that have it. When I think of this I think of how whenever it rains in one town it’s always cloudy in the one next to it. I’ve struggled with my mom’s inability to feel happiness like I do for many years but I have come to accept it instead of putting it down and being angry about it. I’ve also come to love her more because of her brokenness and I’ve seen my family do the same. She’s blinded to our change in perspective because of the disease, but my sister, and my dad, and I have all noticed a difference in how she deals with her

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