Some posts are difficult to write. I’ve written and restarted this post three times already, and even now I’m not sure I’ll keep this attempt. I read the work of authors like Jenny Lawson, Allie Brosch, Samantha Irby, Alana Massey, and others and think, “They are famous, people relate to them, why would they care if I feel some type of way?”
Then I return to the idea that this is my blog, this is my space, and this is my voice screaming into the void. I can say what I want to say. Maybe one person will hear me that needs to hear what I have to say.
I suffer from depression and anxiety and have suffered for a very long time. As is the case with any mental illness, the understanding of what that means is lacking across the general population, and so just the act of putting that on “paper” on a public website makes me want to clarify, educate, preempt, and explain myself. Despite this, we live in 2017, we live in the After Times, and I should not have to explain my conditions. Go look it up.
What I am willing to share is what I have been going through over the past couple of years. Usually my depression simply makes me feel numb, and when I get so numb that I get lost and can’t see the point in living, I go see a therapist and she helps set me back on the right path, and then I am clear enough to feel things again. I am not currently on any medication. So in the past year or so with all of the increased stressors that I’ve written about before, my depression decided to try something new.
Every day. Every day that I wake up, I have to convince myself to get out of bed and tackle another day. And I don’t mean that in the cute “LOL someone has a case of the MONDAYS LOL.” I mean that in the “jesus why didn’t I die in my sleep” way and I know that’s goddamn depressing but there is no other way to explain it.
But that’s not all! My usually strong and capable coping mechanisms are useless against the “if you weren’t here you wouldn’t have to worry about this” mindset. If something stresses me out, my brain actually calms me down by having me fantasize about how it would be awesome to just ~not exist~ and how that would make all the stress just melt away! I mean, I know it’s not good, and I see it happening, but I’m like a spectator watching my mind try to grapple with a lot of shit right now and anything that helps me survive is being given full sway. The method of choice right now is “imagine a world in which you don’t have to be here to handle all this shit.”
One caveat I always feel the need to include is that I am not suicidal. I don’t think about how I would kill myself or when or with what or anything. It’s more of an absence of existence and what that would be like as opposed to the actual act of suicide. I don’t want to kill myself. I just want to disappear. Float away. Slowly dissolve into the ether. And every morning that I discover that I have not done that is another morning I need to lie in bed for 30 seconds to 5 minutes giving myself positive self-talk about how I can do just one more day. Just get up and do it again. What other choice do I have?
Another one. And another one. And another one.