The Best Way To Cure Depression [Writer's contest]

coco olorunfemi

August 11, 2015 3:27 PM

This is an entry for the Pulse writer's contest by Kunle Ologunro. "...I begin to miss the house in Ikola, I begin to hate people who have perfect lives, like compact face powders..."

Depressed and pretending

My depression is triggered off by so many things. Sometimes it starts with a craving;

I begin to crave something greasy, slimy and deeply fried in oil.

Something like fried turkey, or big chunks of beef, or gizzard, or greasy plantains. Of course I never get to eat these- we hardly fry things until they begin to drip oil, but when I do, I have this unsettling sensation in me; I'm never sated. All of a sudden, my family members become strangers, strangers with too-happy faces and too-loud voices. Then I begin to feel lifeless. I don't feel the urge to dress up anymore, I don't have the energy to brush my hair or spray my cologne.

Sometimes, I want to cry. My depression chokes me and makes me long for things I could have had, things I could have been, things I have no control over. I begin to miss my parents. I begin to miss the house in Ikola, I begin to hate people who have perfect lives, like compact face powders. Most times, I like to dress up in nice clothes and preen at my reflection in my grandma's floor-length mirror. The last time I was depressed, I picked up my blue Bermoda trousers, my nondescript white shirt, my pretty watercolour tie, and my Burna Boy glasses.

Then I went into my grandma's room and dressed up, knotted the tie, put on the glasses and wore my socks and shoes. And my sister came in and asked me "Where are you going to?", because the time was 11:15, and I smiled and said nothing. But after she left, I wanted to, for a brief moment, become someone else, someone untouched by pains, by depression. I wanted to walk out of our house, walk far, far away and never return until the heaviness in my chest is liquefied, watery, like a badly made pap.

Yesterday, I told an acquaintance I felt spiritually broken. I told him I was going to drink anointing oil, pray and pray, do my laundry and take a long shower. And he, this acquaintance who always seemed to know what to say and how to construct it stared at me and said nothing. Perhaps that is the best way to cure depression, remaining silent and pretending your happiness is in the pocket of your shirt.

NAME: KUNLE OLOGUNRO

coco olorunfemi