Imagine you're stuck down a deep, dark well. You have no idea how you got there. You're cold, scared, and lonely, and want to go home. You reach for the walls to orient yourself, but suddenly realize: you have no arms. They were not cut off or ripped off, but your body just ends at the shoulders where there should be arms, and you are incomplete.
Imagine screaming in horror at your missing limbs, then screaming for help - up, up the well shaft at the featureless sky above. It might be days before somebody hears you. It might be weeks. Months. You can lick the walls for a foul-tasting drink, but even though it sustains you, it's not enjoyable, and it's an effort to do so.
In your shock, you lose track of time. You stop paying attention to the only sliver of the sun's path you can see. Days pass. Maybe more. You don't know what day it even is anymore.
Finally one day a group of people hear you screaming and offer help. They have a brief discussion out of earshot, and then one of them appears with a smile, and reaches a hand down into the well. It's obviously too high up.
"I can't reach that," you say. At first they see the logic. It's obviously too deep. So the guy thinks, then bends further into the well. "I still can't reach that," you say, "and anyway, I have no arms to grab."
A flicker of annoyance crosses his face. "Can't you see I'm trying to help?" he snaps. "Look at the effort I'm making here!" He pulls back and you hear another muffled discussion taking place. Then nothing for a while. Suddenly you hear a noise and a long piece of string tumbles down the shaft. Not only is it clear to you that it would not support the weight of a human being, but you still have no hands to use it.
"I can't use this!" you yell out of frustration. "I told you, I have no arms!"
A face or two appears at the top of the well again, looking angry. "What's wrong with you?" they chide. "Are you lazy or something? Make the damn effort and reach for the rope! We went through a lot of trouble to find it! Just climb!"
You start to cry. "I can't! I. Have. No. Arms. And the 'rope' is too thin. There's no way this will work," you say bitterly.
One of the guys curses you and leaves. Another says, "Can't you see the help is there? Are you blind? Are you making fun of us? Just use your damn hands and meet us halfway, for fuck's sake!"
Your heart sinks. "I have no arms," you repeat again, quietly.
"What?" he asks.
"I! HAVE! NO! ARMS!" you scream as loudly as possible. "I! HAVE! NO! ARMS!" Again and again you scream and repeat yourself and try to explain, but all they do is get even more angry and frustrated at you that you aren't using your hands to take the help they offer, which really isn't the right kind of help for your situation at all. But they don't seem to understand that, or even hear or accept your reasons why.
Finally they give up, mutter that you probably just want to stay there, drop the rope into the well, curse you again, and leave.
You're alone again. It gets dark quickly. There are no lights but the tiny opening to the sky, but you eventually just stop looking up at all, because it hurts your neck. It rains on you sometimes. Those times are worse because there's nowhere to go, and the floor gets even more damp. Other times you just sit on the cold ground and wish for death. Most of the time you just feel nothing. And you still have no arms.
Once in a while someone comes by the well and looks down out of curiosity. If they see you, they don't always acknowledge it. Or if they do, they think you're there intentionally, or that you're fine where you are because you aren't screaming at that moment. Maybe once or twice someone who also has no arms looks down and sees you. You nod at each other, because you both know they can't really help you. Not while you're still stuck down there.
Sometimes you do scream. Many people pretend they don't hear it. Others assume that's the noise wells make. Nobody who ever stops to offer you help understands why you can't handle a rope or take a hand. The words "I have no arms" seem to confuse them, and they gloss over it like a blind spot.
Otherwise, every day is the same. The clouds may change up there, or the color of the sky, but it's joyless. Your own scenery, the cold, damp, hateful walls and hard, gritty, stony floor, never change. You are stuck. You will always be stuck. And you still have no arms.
After a while, and after too many people not listening to you, you begin to feel like "I have no arms" is a nonsensical phrase your brain made up in a panic, which is maybe why nobody understands it. But you know it makes sense. You know you're missing them. You know you're helpless.
It pains you more that you're never offered the right kind of help, even if you make suggestions that may be useful, like filling the well slowly, or using a crane. People find all kinds of excuses for not doing those things: It costs too much. They're too busy. It will damage the well. They won't fill it because they might want to keep it empty and use it one day. The cranes are busy building someone a fancy house. It's more effort than they care to expend on you. And they say these things and leave. And you are alone again.
And you cry. And you cry. And you cry.
This is depression.
It's not that you don't want the help. It's that you can't take the help offered, because it's the wrong kind of help. And people can't see that the problem is not laziness, or you trying to be difficult, but that you're missing the kind of thing that other people use to accept help, like hands. It's just easier to imagine not having hands or arms than it is to imagine a more invisible, mental, incapacity. That makes it even harder, because people see you have a complete body on the outside, and just assume you're not trying. But like someone with no arms, you CAN'T try. Not the way they want or expect you to. But they don't listen. They don't understand. Because it's in your head. In your brain. And other people walking past - they can't even see the well.
