Appetite was normal. I was sleeping well.
Yet, my heart was on the verge of breaking.
The signs of depression often talked about are loss of appetite, inability to sleep, and being unable to do housework—there were times when none of those applied to me.
Because I could lead a somewhat normal daily life, I struggled to notice my own condition.
At that time, what tormented me most was "becoming unable to communicate."
I became unable to reply to messages from friends, acquaintances, and family.
And as the most significant sign, "I became unable to report, contact, and consult (Horenso) at work."
It wasn't that I was being showered with unreasonableness from my boss or seniors.
While thinking "I have to do at least this much myself," I gradually took on too much. There must have been people I could rely on around me, but for some reason, I couldn't reach out. I shouldn't take up their time for something of this level. If I can't do it perfectly, it's just an excuse—that's what I thought.
Those days piled up like debt, gradually compressing my heart.
Looking back, three functions were stopping in order.
First, the circuit for recognizing my own state broke.
I no longer knew "what I wasn't able to do." I knew I wasn't doing something. But what, how much, why—I couldn't grasp the outline.
Next, the device for verbalizing it stopped.
My head was like a fog, and things wouldn't become words. When I tried to write an email, it felt like the sentences were dissolving into the mist. Even if there were people I could rely on nearby, my heart wouldn't come together.
And finally, even the judgment that "I should seek help" no longer surfaced.
This was very quiet and the most dangerous state.
If you lose your appetite or can't sleep, you notice it yourself.
But being unable to report/contact/consult only resulted in self-loathing, thinking "I'm incompetent at my job." I processed it as a flaw rather than a sign.
From this experience, I changed my way of thinking.
I stopped aiming to be "a self who can report/contact/consult perfectly."
Because I realized that no matter how conscious I was, the part of me that takes everything on myself wouldn't change so easily.
Instead, I decided to create an environment based on the premise of "a self who becomes unable to communicate." That was much more realistic.
I lowered the standard first.
I changed "I must report properly" to
"Even if it's messy or incomplete, it's better than radio silence." I realized that giving up on perfect communication would be a lifeline.
Next, while my condition was somewhat stable, I built a system.
For example—
・Prepared a template that just said, "I'm not doing well right now."
・Explained to my boss in advance the patterns of when I become unable to communicate.
・Asked a senior, "If my communication stops, please reach out to me."
・Set up regular 1-on-1s as a place where I could talk without having to initiate it myself.
And most importantly, I decided that no matter how cornered my heart felt, I would send just that one phrase: "I'm not doing well right now."
No need to explain. No need to apologize. Giving myself permission that that was enough stopped the collapse many times.
Instead of trying to be a perfect version of yourself, create an environment where your imperfect self can survive.
That is not giving up.
I believe it is the most realistic self-defense and honesty toward oneself, based on an accurate understanding of one's own structure.
Just because "appetite is normal and you're sleeping" doesn't necessarily mean you're okay.
How about you?
Notice the things you've become unable to do, first of all.
And know that it's okay to rely on others while remaining imperfect.
