The other day, Harry convinced me to watch Aftersun (2022). If you haven’t seen it, it’s a story about a daughter recollecting memories with her father, who she realises now in later life, was very depressed.
I’m a total crybaby, and normally can’t get through an episode of Come Dine With Me without shedding at least a little tear. When the credits rolled on Paul Mescal, Harry turned to my frowning self and noted ‘you didn’t like it’.
‘Just wasn’t for me’ I shrugged, ‘I just think he didn’t seem that sad’.
30 minutes later, we were in bed, the imminent childhood flashbacks had appeared and I was sobbing. The film had clearly left its mark. I was trying to explain to Harry what it felt like to be actively depressed.
For weeks at a time, months if I’m lucky, I can pretty convincingly play a regular person. I can find myself engaged at work while juggling a healthy social life, I can keep my laundry pile small and I can remember to take my vitamins - after a healthy serving of breakfast. I know exactly what it takes to keep myself happy and I put it all into place.
Sometimes there are bad days, and I might feel sad or pissed off at the world, but I can still do all these daily tasks, do them well, and keep on top of things. A bad day, while not uncommon, usually only happens when something has made it happen. I slipped up at work and now have to spend hours fixing the problem instead of trawling through my to-do list. I missed the bus, even after doing my little jog for it. Yes, I’m annoyed, but the problem has a solution and I can see the end of it.
That’s not what it’s like when I’m in active depression.
Imagine, one day, you wake up and gravity has become stronger. Everything around you feels heavier, everything more difficult to navigate.
Your duvet is pressing down with the weight of a labrador sprawling over you. You scramble out of bed, feeling double your weight weigh down on your back, your knees. Getting ready for the day feels like an impossible task if your clothes feel too heavy to wear and brushing your teeth seems like an olympic sport.
Imagine time starts ticking slightly slower. Things are not quite in slow motion, but everything moves a little more sluggish than normal.
You know that coffee, maybe a quick bite to eat, would make you feel better. But if it felt as if the kettle took 15 minutes to boil, would you wait for it? Would you set off on a morning walk if it felt like you’d be stuck outside for hours on end?
The worst part is you’re the only person experiencing the world this way. Everybody else can happily work through their 9-5 (32 hours in your time), nip out to walk the dog (half marathon) and chat with their partner over dinner (performing as a West End lead). You must seem like a poor excuse for company among these ordinary people. Isolate yourself. Keep your slow, sluggish world as separate from others as you can.
‘It’s annoying’ I said, ‘Because I know that going out for a walk in the morning is the best thing for my mental health. I know I should eat breakfast, I know I should journal, I know I should breathe. I know I should be doing all those things but when I’m depressed they feel unachievable’.
‘If I felt like I weighed 1000kg I wouldn’t go for a walk either’ Harry replied. ‘Let me cook for you and help-’.
‘Oh no,’ I interrupted. ‘I like cooking. The kitchen is an anti-gravity room. When I’m cooking, especially waiting for you to get home, everything feels light. Everything is easy, time ticks faster’.
‘That sounds really dangerous’.
‘Okay, the knives are affected by gravity’.
I remembered this conversation this afternoon and realised it was one of the easiest ways I’ve been able to explain depression to a loved one. It might not make sense to everyone, but I think it sums up how I feel on the worst of days. Not only is it a taboo subject, but discussing mental health with friends and family can feel impossible, as unfortunately, it’s all in your head.
Anyway, would I recommend Aftersun? Probably still no. Bit slow.
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