Writing writing writing...?

With effort, I heaved open the problematic wooden door, attempting to muffle the clicking and creaking that would soon congest the already crowded room like an epizootic among cattle. Nonetheless, its smooth surface felt cool and gentle on my fingertips, and I later found myself yearning for that strangely comforting texture. Like rolling in the snow and immediately plunging into a hot tub, my skin screeched and tingled as I entered the surprisingly warm and slightly muggy classroom concealed by that troublesome egress. Nervous, perspiring students wrung their hands together, squinting their eyes tightly shut and mumbling strings of words, attempting to recall well-rehearsed lines that somehow happened to be escaping their desperate minds. Claustrophobia wound its way around my raw throat. I wove intricately through the delicate web of children, making my way to the stage. The pleasantly familiar scent of wood, paint, and improvisation greeted my nostrils and caressed me the way

a mother does her firstborn as I slid soundlessly to the center of the stage. I inhaled a deep breath of the sweet air, calming the caterpillars gradually emerging from their fragile cocoons in my stomach, frantically trying to capture the beauty and rapture of carefree flight that only a butterfly is privileged enough to enjoy. The performer before me was taking her final bow, drenched in the applause of an adoring audience. My breath froze like ice in my lungs when suddenly she sidled towards me from in front of the dusty, forest green curtain, which hung uselessly above the glimmering floor, limp and lifeless as a dead animal. Slyly, she caught my eye. “Good luck,” she breathed, before gliding effortlessly away and abandoning me behind the emotionless fabric. I embraced the safety that dirty old curtain temporarily provided me. But it was time. Thank you sweet, sad curtain. One more painstaking breath, and in slow motion, I plunged.

The above was a "snapshot" paragraph for english. The assignment was to choose a moment in our lives and vividly describe it...It's not my best; I don't really like it. What do you think?

If you dig out old Webster, brush the dust off his surface, and leaf through his frighteningly thin pages, you will flip and flop back and forth between the folios before finally discovering exactly where your word anxiously awaits your arrival, bawling and shrieking for you to read it and therefore finally ease your troubled mind, for you have lost many nights of sleep hopelessly tossing and turning, begging to understand the definition of that one ten letter word: depression. What is depression? Webster says that it is the state of being depressed. Thanks buddy. “Depression” was not even listed in two or three other dictionaries I hopelessly searched through. Words like “depressed,” “depress,” and “depressing” blotted the page, catching my eye for a brief second before smothering my ambitions of ever finding the precise word, in all its ten-letter splendor.

Perhaps you are pompously snapping, “I know what depression is! It’s sadness, plain and simple. No wonder it’s not in the dictionary; who would ever need to look up that simplistic word?” As you brusquely hurl these papers down and strut away, abandoning them on some park bench or picnic table, an onlooker snickers at your arrogance before clutching the rejected document, seating herself comfortably, and preparing for a satisfying read.

Depression is much more than simply sadness. Depression can be separation from someone or something you love. It can feel like half of you has been dismally ripped from its home and left in some forgotten alley or basement. You have no one to hold on to, the only thing keeping you going has been demolished, and now, with nothing left to celebrate, you begin cleaning up the mess the guests made. Depression can be a feeling of isolation, and not the isolation you experience walking peacefully through a mossy forest, or relaxing on a tranquil beach, watching the fiery sun burn its last rays before blanketing itself behind the horizon, leaving you with the company of the waves lapping calmly at your feet. No, this isolation is quite a different cup of tea. It is as if you are a statue, frozen in place for an eternity as the world swirls dizzyingly around you, leaving you behind, helplessly crying out in vain. You are spiraling feebly down the great toilet bowl of life, until you

reach the pipes below all humanity, clearing the salted water from your bleary eyes and wondering what on earth just happened. Or perhaps you are surrounded by people, faces crowding you, and keeping you company, yet that same depression manages to hang on, nearly suffocating you, and crudely morphing smiles into critical, judgmental glares.

Sadness, on the other hand, is incredibly unlike depression. Sadness is the sensation you experience after losing a loved one, or failing an important exam. It is an emotion of immeasurable grief. It can be shared with others, like family, and friends. It tends to affect those around you, and those around you tend to affect it right back. When you feel sad and your best friend or true love grins at you, or wraps you up in their arms, you hear a murmur in your head that softly whispers, Right now it hurts, but in a little while it’ll all be okay…. Depression is a different species altogether. Depression stings your soul, and yours only. It is a total numbness that only you as an individual are encountering. Your friends and family have absolutely no idea what you are going through, and that is why depression tends to be more difficult to understand.

Those around you unfortunately cannot help you, nor make you feel better, in any way. When you are sad, you receive some warm words and you eventually turn out all right. However, when an acquaintance finds out that you are depressed, you are sent to a psychiatrist, or a therapist, because no one realizes what you are undergoing enough to just throw out the standard comforting words and tick off another item on their mental agendas.

Perhaps the original reader was so brutal to the subject because it was something he felt inside, something that he knew was lurking there. He felt the throb of depression gnawing hungrily at his soul, but he was in denial, and did not want to have to think that his life really was heading in the wrong direction. What he did not recognize is that by acknowledging it, he could actually find the basis of his problem, and the healing could begin. If you do not admit to depression, then eventually it will swallow you up whole, leaving nothing behind but a trail of tears and your reading glasses, which will be strong reminders to others. Hopefully others can heed these words and receive help, from someone who understands. Someone who knows what is happening…someone, say, the author?

OK sorry that's so effing long, you don't have to read everything. It's a definition essay. "Show me your soul, not your skeleton," said my teacher. Well, there you have it. My definition essay on depression...tell me what you think....