“The absolute worst part of depression is that even though you know you’re depressed, you’re unable to stop yourself from getting worse. The other thing about depression is it kind of collapses time. Suddenly, you find your whole days blending together to create one endless and suffocating loop. So you find yourself trying to remember the things that made you happy. But slowly, your brain begins to erase every memory that ever brought you joy. And eventually, all you can think about is how life has always been this way. And will only continue to be this way.”
(“Euphoria,” S01, E07)
Maybe it won’t *always* be this way for me, but after dealing with it on/off for the past… 15+/- years… I’m beginning to think this may be my fate. Albeit it seems like most of my current melancholia is situational, after a while it is nearly impossible to separate the internal factors from the external factors.
It pains me to even share this shit anymore because of how fucking redundant it is. The more ongoing my condition is, all I can think about is how I’m so pro “END THE STIGMA” yet the more I share it’s like… “END THE STIGMA — BUT NOT LIKE THAT.” And honestly, I feel like my truth-telling is nothing more than like that scene in Black Swan where she’s digging at the hangnail, and the further she digs, the farther she becomes from actually grasping onto it, and just makes a big fucking mess. THAT is what it feels like, introspectively, from a depressive’s point of view; so logically, it makes the most sense for me to wade through these waters “behind-the-scenes” despite priding myself on recovering out loud. Y’all my entire thought process right now is one giant, clashing conundrum of anxiety, self-hatred, anger, insecurity, and shame. It’s nonsensical.
I feel like sharing makes it seem like I’m just crying for attention or searching for pity. I’m not. They say the opposite of addiction is connection — which makes me think of two Susan Sontag quotes:
“What, I ask, drives me to disorder? How can I diagnose myself? All I feel, most immediately, is the most anguished need for physical love and mental companionship…
…My emotional life: dialectic between craving for privacy and need to submerge myself in a passionate relationship to another.”
*AND* according to Andrew Solomon’s The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression,
“Depression is the flaw in love. To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair. When it comes, it degrades one’s self and ultimately eclipses the capacity to give or receive affection. It is the aloneness within us made manifest, and it destroys not only connection to others but also the ability to be peacefully alone with oneself. Love, though it is no prophylactic against depression, is what cushions the mind and protects it from itself. Medications and psychotherapy can renew that protection, making it easier to love and be loved, and that is why they work. In good spirits, some love themselves and some love others and some love work and some love God: any of these passions can furnish that VITAL SENSE OF PURPOSE THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF DEPRESSION..
But despite the enthusiastic claims of pharmaceutical science, depression cannot be wiped out so long as we are creatures conscious of our own selves. It can at best be contained – and containing is all that current treatments for depression aim to do.
Highly politicized rhetoric has blurred the distinction between depression and its consequences – the distinction between how you feel and how you act in response. This is in part a social and medical phenomenon, but it is also the result of linguistic vagary attached to emotional vagary. Perhaps depression can best be described as emotional pain that forces itself on us against our will, and then breaks free of its externals. Depression is not just a lot of pain; but too much pain can compost itself into depression. Grief is depression in proportion to circumstance; depression is grief out of proportion to circumstance. It is tumbleweed distress that thrives on thin air, growing despite its detachment from the nourishing earth. It can be described only in metaphor and allegory.”
I share all of this because though I adore (and live for, tbh) the sense of connectivity I’ve found w/in this layered, multi-faceted commUNITY (predominately on IG)… the way I’ve been feeling lately, it almost seems like it’s for the better if I don’t share this part of my journey. I’m not sure I want it to be relatable + there’s nothing “je ne sais quoi” about how utterly depleting this is.
I have another appt w/ my (holistic) psychiatrist in a couple of wks, & though all symptoms are seemingly indicative of being reactionary/responses, I feel it’s best to let the professional decide what THEY think might be best for me.
All this is to say, I am not in the best place right now I can’t see any reason or purpose to share this shit. I’m also acutely aware (I shouldn’t be, but such is social media in 2019) I’ve lost 4-10 followers on avg w/ each post I’ve made over the past month or so. Ain’t nobody wanting to read (lengthy af posts) about how insufferable my life has become, & I’m ultimately beginning to feel like a farce.
I’m currently not this radiant beacon of hope or showcasing how fucking rad sobriety is, and I’m not as interesting as I’d like myself to believe (I am a romantic in too much of the sense of the word, I think).
Maybe it’s time for me to sit on the sidelines + cheer other people on, until I’m in a place where I can do the same for myself.
I’m working on not feeling like a burden, but all I know is that when my emotions become “too much” people disappear. If I’m too myself, it repels people – my history is proof. And I’m sorry to those I should’ve been better support to/for. I’m working on it though — I am a (fucking resilient) work in progress. One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time. That’s the best I can do, for now. Thank you to the select few (you know who you are) that have stayed by my side. xo 🌻
“Won’t you give me two minutes please?
Just let me cover my eyes.
All the hammer and scrape has been chipping away
At the luster of life.
So I move,
I would but I am so tired.
If I can’t shake myself,
I can’t dance with you.”
― Frightened Rabbit, “Skip the Youth”