The Dirty Word

There is a dirty word.
A word that is more taboo than most words really.
A word, when you discover, most automatically pushes you into denial.
We say - aaah it is the affliction of the mighty - it can't possibly be true for me.
I mean I am young and finding my feet and part of the growing middle class in urban India right?
This dirty word is only for the rich and famous. Maybe the rich and famous in the America or maybe the emotional romanticised Europe.
Not us. Not you. Not me.
We don't know this word. If we bump into it, we ignore it.
We brush it behind beautiful poetry and cryptic syllables.

Depression is a dirty word.

I think most urban young people of my generation are still dealing with breaking out of conservative moral codes to actually worry about depression. There is no time you see.
Women hide behind - 'oh I must be pmsing'. While men call it the stress of the job.
But is it really just that?

Also there is this imagery that the concept of depression carries in our heads. Psychiatrists. Pills. Crazy people. How I wish it were that simple and easy to figure out?
Sadly it isn't.
It is complex and has degrees.

I have ignored my moods and bouts of sadness for years. Lately I decided to change my plan.
I face it. I tell Ree. I inform. I write about it. I analyse it till Depression itself gets tired.
I look it in the eye and say that to a certain degree feeling like this is ok. I do that so I know that I need to reach out if it gets to a degree beyond normal.

I will not run from you. I will embrace you. Maybe then we'll find a way to make you clean again.