“Others imply that they know what it is like to be depressed because they have gone through a divorce, lost a job, or broken up with someone. But these experiences carry with them feelings. Depression, instead, is flat, hollow, and unendurable. It is also tiresome. People cannot abide being around you when you are depressed. They might think that they ought to, and they might even try, but you know and they know that you are tedious beyond belief: you are irritable and paranoid and humorless and lifeless and critical and demanding and no reassurance is ever enough. You’re frightened, and you’re frightening, and you’re “not at all like yourself but will be soon,” but you know you won’t.”
― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
I am depressed, and I am lonely.
People will ask me how I’m doing and I’ll always reply “fine” when I really want to break down into exhausted sobs until my body falls and my brain shuts down.
People will ask me what’s going on and I will say, “oh, nothing.” When really I want to scream and yell in frustration and break open my soul for them to peer inside.
But I don’t.
I smile and chirp cheerfully about weather, or comics, or my son.
I’ve gotten good after all these years at faking it. Faking interest. Faking happiness. Faking being well.
It’s hard for me to read positive thinking threads – where people are learning to love themselves, their lives, their bodies.
I can’t fathom what it’s even like to LIKE those things, let alone love them.
I’m so goddamn tired. I want to sleep as much as possible because in my dreams it’s not like this. In my dreams I’m a Ghostbuster or a Time Traveller or something equally as cool.
Unless I’m having nightmares. Then I don’t want to sleep at all.
It’s so damn hard for me to put this down in writing. To express what it’s like to feel worthless all the fucking time. To look in the mirror and hate oneself so much. To drown my depression in food and slowly kill myself with obesity. To avoid drinking and smoking because I know, I fucking know, I would drown myself there too.
I feel like my marriage is falling apart because I’m this big ball of fucked up ness. I feel like I’m failing my son because I just can’t seem to get a handle on anything. I think I’ve managed to keep the worst of it from him so far but….
And I’m so FUCKING TERRIFIED that if I do open up, that I do start seeing someone that there will be repercussions. They’ll deem me an unfit mother and take me away from my Bean. I’m a depressed mom, someone who possibly has bipolar, and we aren’t painted kindly in the media.
Bean is my only sunshine. He’s the only thing that keeps me gripping so tightly to the attempt at a “normal” life. He gets my genuine smiles and all my patience and my love. He is my touchstone to the future where I’m stable and happy and drawing again.
Gods, I miss drawing.
I don’t even know what do do anymore. I don’t know how lost I am … and I don’t know when there will be a “coming out the other side”. Trying to get help is a long and drawn out process. Three months I have been waiting to see someone. I want to find someone I can forge a professional relationship with, someone with whom I’ll feel safe, someone that can help guide me back from the edge. I’m so tired of being shunted around from place to person to place.
The depression, the loneliness, the anxiety and the anger…it’s eating me up inside. I can’t cover it forever but for my Bean I will keep swimming. I’ll keep my head just above water so that I can still breathe and I will begin my long swim back to shore.
Because even though I think I’m not worth it, I know that he IS.
“In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”
― Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders