Greyscale

I look at myself in the mirror and ask why I would ever be admired. I look at my pale face and the dark circles around my teary eyes and wonder why my cheekbones can be more visible today. I see my face and wonder why I am depressed. Why I cry every night before I go to bed. I look deep into my eyes and ask my very own self why I hate myself.

When I am around people I feel my soul detaching from my body. I feel elevated beyond the physical world. I’d then become so deep into my consciousness, that I lose myself. I would nod regardless agreeing, I would always fake a smile, a laugh or whatever that comes automatically to avoid people getting into my state of peace.

Or despair.

I have been depressed for a long while now. I have learned that after reading a couple of articles on the topic and taking a couple of unreliable online tests just for the sake of entertainment and showed many of the symptoms mentioned.

And I don’t know the reason behind my feelings. I don’t understand what have made me reach this point.

I have a life that many people would dream of. A great, loving family, a great house, good education opportunities, great upbringing, and a pair of green eyes in Egypt. My parents provided me with the best. And love me unconditionally.

Yet, depression and loneliness haunt me wherever I go.

Every time I speak out loud about my depressed self, people would laugh at me and ask why a girl like me would ever be depressed. They’d tell me that I don’t have the right to feel so.

As if it was ever my choice. As if I have every wanted to be stuck in this state. As if I have ever liked it.

‘Then change yourself’, they’d say.

I’d laugh.

Do they think I have never tried? Do they even know what happens every time I try?

Here’s what happens: I receive shots of negative thoughts from my head which destroy me. I end up this lump of flesh with zero self-esteem. The grey scale world around me would blacken and the concept of pleasure would disappear. The slightest thing that would usually make me happy won’t. The only feeling I get is numbness.

I would watch the streetlights blur, the colors fade away, the objects unfocused and text dissolving into white papers/screens. I would lose the slightest sense. I would skip the smiles, the laughs, and most forms of human contact.

I would end up living with altered versions of real people in my head. We converse, we joke and we fall in love.

And constantly destroy each other. Rip each other’s souls apart.

I am held captive. Not in the walls of my room or my house. Not in the fences of my gated city. Not in the boundaries of my country. But I am held captive into my soul. I am held captive in my thoughts. And my innermost self.

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3 comments

  1. Kaiti V. · February 15, 2015

    I just discovered your blog and I’m fascinated by your perspective. I’m sorry to read that you are experiencing depression. I have been through it and was only able to overcome it through therapy. I don’t know if it’s culturally taboo in “Arabia”, but it certainly was in Greece when I went – not only the treatment, but the depression itself. The beauty of it is… no one has to know. And if you think all therapists are quacks, I can say: yes, many of them are. But many of them are not. There are as many types of therapists as there are people.

    • margarib · February 16, 2015

      Thank you so much! Well, it is certainly a cultural taboo here in Egypt as well. And I definitely agree with you! Again, thank you 🙂

  2. pajarorolando · February 19, 2015

    I Just found that your blog and upon reading your last post decided to send you a tweet “#MicroscopePics Grass under a microscope is so happy” … just thought it might cheer you up.

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