My depression didn’t come with tears or sadness. It came with the void. The void of emotion. I had no real way to cheer myself up or even feel sad or angry. I had no interest in engaging with anyone or anything. I would sit in bed and stare at the ceiling and just contemplate life and if it was all worth it. I slept most of the time, since any activity that required me to interact with others and pretend to have emotion was exhausting. It was a chore to socialize and I was always left with the emptiness at the end of the day. I didn’t really attempt to escape this void because I couldn’t understand why I was feeling this way. I was flat. A static character in a book that was no more dynamic than a white sheet of paper. I had no reason to be happy. I had no reason to be sad. I had not a care in the world other than the overwhelming need to sleep off the ache of spending my energy wearing a mask of who I once was. I was utterly and truly a shadow of who I use to be. My mind was a dark cloud and my moods even less visible.

I was 17 when one of my close friends died. I sat next to her empty desk every day for the rest of the year. It was our senior year and I had known her for over 3 years. We were suppose to play Softball together in the spring, but she was gone in December. My whole world shifted after she died. For as long as I can remember I had tried to make my dad proud of me. After she died, I realized the only person I need to make proud is myself, and I had not been doing a great job of that. I questioned everything. Most people don’t want to think of themselves as a bad person, but I sure wasn’t a good one.

Why was I still alive, when my friend was dead? She had her whole life planned out. She knew where she wanted to go to college, what she wanted to major in and what she wanted to do with that major. She even planned on taking a gap year to help make money for college, and knew what job would pay her the most for her work and time during that year. Her life was set out in front of her and she had it all mapped out. Yet she died the night before she was to take the SAT. I still had some of her notes from the class we had together that I was borrowing for the weekend. I never got to return them. They sit in my desk drawer because I don’t have the heart to throw them out even though the notes are no longer useful. Her obituary was beautiful and encapsulated who she was. I still read it every year.

My family didn’t know how to handle this type of situation. When I came downstairs to tell my parents after ending a phone call with a mutual friend, my dad yelled. It was the only thing he knew how to do. In any situation, good or bad, my father was yelling. It startled me and the truth began to sink in. She was dead and I would never see her again. I sank to the floor as the tears started streaming down my face. Eventually after a long silence, I went back to my room to cry alone. Alone is what I was in that moment, and it was then that I realized I had always been alone.

I went to her viewing. It was my second funeral, but the first for a friend. My first funeral of a child. She was 18. My mother drove me since I was an emotional wreck. There was only one other person there that night during the viewing, we wept together and looked at the preserved corpse of our friend. Her hair was a mess of cowlicks just like it was while she was alive and she was wearing blue jeans and her favorite band t-shirt. She had just seen their concert less than a month before she passed. I left the viewing with tears in my eyes and no one to talk to. I was the strong one. In my group of friends they always counted on me to keep my cool and stay grounded. I didn’t feel strong that night, I felt helpless. My mother whispered “She looks so small”. Her personality was huge, so her short stature went unnoticed to those around her, but the coffin made her look confined, which is something she never would have been in life. We left the viewing and all I wanted to do was go to sleep and a small part of me didn’t want to wake up.

My mom asked me if we could stop by Winco on the way home from the viewing so she could get her grocery shopping done. It was a Friday night and the funeral was tomorrow so she knew I wouldn’t want to go then. My eyes were tired from crying and my mind was tired from feeling so many things as once, but I agreed to please her. I was unashamed of my tears. I mourned for a friend, a sister, and for the family I knew all too well. So the tears fell at Winco, with seemingly no end. Maybe my mother was attempting to distract me, but all I could think about was how the first time I went to Winco was with my friend who was now lying in a wooden coffin less than 5 miles away. I sat down in the middle of an isle and cried while my mother took a phone call and when she came over to check on me I pleaded to go home. Her face went white and I think in that moment my mom realized just how much this affected me. We hurriedly finished shopping and checked out. The tears fell, but since I didn’t make a sound no one said anything to me. They all looked at me with pity and worry and even curiously, but no one said a thing.

The funeral was packed, standing room only. Many people I didn’t recognize and many I did. I sat with other softball team members as well as the coach. He cried more than I did that day, and that fall he placed her name and number on the roster for every softball game. I played for her that season. I wanted to quit many times, most nights I would leave practice and I would cry as I drove myself home. I would sit in the car and just scream into the steering wheel before I went into my house where I was expect to be okay. My voice lost in the void. My emotions soon after.

I never talked about her. I brought her up in conversation a few times, but no one wanted to get into the gritty details of what I was feeling. No one wants to talk about death. We like to pretend it isn’t there, so that we don’t have to face it. Instead of making people uncomfortable by talking about it, I bottled it up. This was when my emotions went flat. There was no outlet, no where for all my feeling to be released so they all melded together until they were seemingly nothing. This is the biggest mistake anyone can make.

Talk about the hard stuff. Have the uncomfortable conversations. There is no reason to bottle it all up. There is no reason that we should ignore the pain and suffering we feel. I have found that the more open I am with others, the more open they are with me. Everyone wants to talk about their struggles and work through them out loud with another person to validate their feelings. It can be hard to open up about the demons you have hidden, but once they are shown into the light they become less scary. Let the dark cloud over your mind pour its rain and feel what is meant to be felt, so that the cloud will lighten its load and eventually vanish.