She And Her

I suffer from depression and it grips me without provocation at times. At one time for therapy, I was told to have a conversation with my depression as if it was a tangible thing. I thought the exercise silly at first and had no inspiration. Inspiration is hard to come by when you are in the throws of depression. I thought at first, I would create a dark monster that pursues me. I would have to do battle with it and have a heroic ending. Instead, I created an alter-ego who is both me and yet a separate person that can be spoken to. Anyhow, below is the result of taking that therapy prompt seriously.

She is sitting comfortably in a booth at a bakery sipping coffee. She is blond with accents of gray hair. She has hair that is curly and rests behind the shoulders. She has eyes of bluish green/ gray depending on the mood or the color she wears. She cradles a mug in both palms savoring each sip of coffee.

Her approaches the booth and sits at the booth across from She. Her, has hair of an indeterminate color which is pulled back into a messy bun. Her eyes have a sickly ocher hue which continue to stare as She sips the coffee.

“I don’t know why you are here. I don't want you here,” She says.

“I have nowhere else to go.” Is Her reply.

“I don't have room for you,” She says.

Her replies, “You have enough room for me.”

“No,” She says, “you always get in the way.”

“It will only be for a little while,” Her adds.

She puts the mug down firmly with an audible clink, “Last time I almost couldn't recover!” She says, raising her voice. “Last time you almost killed me!”

“I just want to be near you,” Her says.

“There are still things out of order from the last time you were around. It took me days just to wash dishes and to do laundry you left behind I can't get anything done when you're around.”

“But I am already here”, Her replies, and places a hand on She’s hand.

She is no longer comfortable and shifts uneasily in the seat. Her begins to drain all the energy out of She and She no longer wants the coffee on the table. It’s taste no longer brings pleasure.“Let’s go home” Her insists.

“I hate you!” She sobs.

She knows that Her will be around for some time. That She will miss work yet again. She will cancel plans again. She will put off paying the bills again. She will feel like She is moving in a toxic sludge bogging every movement again. The only reprieve She will get is when she is in bed not to sleep, just to stare at the wall, because She is not bodily tired. She’s soul is trapped in Her embrace and it is exhausting.

Not the happy ending I was searching for, and maybe not the ending you were searching for as a reader. This has helped me give my depression an identity. I don’t have scientific reasons to say why it has helped, but it has. I think it is because I have something tangible to fight other than being inside my own head. I encourage you to give your depression an identity and keep having that conversation. Don’t give up. Maybe you already have your heroic ending where you have beaten your depression into remission, and everything is under control. I do hope that one day I can finish this “conversation” and have an ending where She tells Her to, “GET OUT!” and Her does.