There is one place in the world I’ve been to and I will never go back to again.
The great black hole that literally was sucking the life out of me for a few short months that seemed more like years. It took more than my daily energy to get myself out of bed and to drag myself to my classes for the required seven hours. My nights and weekends were spent in my room, alone, either sleeping or just sprawled out on my bed staring at the ceiling and hating the way life works out.
While what I was going through was not the psychological definition of the term depression, it fit the general definition of the word.
the state of being depressed; sadness, gloom or dejection; dullness or inactivity.
For months it seemed like I just kept going deeper into this never-ending tunnel of depression, but I was lucky enough to have a light running behind me. She spent hours just sitting with me, talking when needed, listening when I was ready to talk and to just sit there in silence. Slowly she began to get me out of my room, even if it was just to sit outside on campus doing nothing but laying on the grass. Before I knew it, I had finally been willingly doing activities outside my room.
Though my family, friends and school psychologist repeatedly told me my emotional state was normal for having lost my parents, I look back and hate the way I was a year ago. Especially when I look and see that my siblings handled it differently; better than I did. They continued to live their lives while I wasted precious weeks of my life holed up in my room.
Now that I’m out of that dark tunnel of despair, I never plan on going back.
In response to The Daily Post’s Journey prompt.