I suffer from depression, anxiety, and at this very second, anger. As you can imagine, the combination of all three is far too lethal and dangerous. I know I’m not alone, and that there are hundreds of thousands who suffer from this. Yet I feel alone. I know there are others like me, yet I feel as though I am walking down a narrow, dark pathway by myself. I can’t put it into exact words the way I am feeling, because words won’t do it justice. I can paint a picture of what I see and feel, But I couldn’t tell you what I painted it with. I cannot pinpoint when it started, or if I felt this way since I was a child. I cannot begin to describe my fear, and my inability to tell others how I feel.
I don’t remember ever being happy. I can’t recall ever having a good day. All I can tell you, is that my day begins and ends with a weight on my chest. The weight can vary, from either heavy to light. On a halfway decent day, I would wake up with 20lbs on my chest. It’s uncomfortable, but I manage. I have slightly more energy than normal, and I get more accomplished during these days. My smile does not feel too strained, and the mask I wear feels almost normal. It’s easier to ignore suicidal thoughts, because there is something distracting me. It could be something as small as a pea, or as large as an elephant, but for a brief moment it takes up my full attention. I’m not happy, but for that brief moment, I’m calm. I haven’t had one of those days in a long time.
On normal days, that 20lb doubles, bringing with it additional weight all over my body. What makes it more painful is that I feel something pushing the 40lbs down onto me with so much force. Like whatever this unknown force is, it does not want me to get out of bed. This inhuman thing can take the form of whatever it wanted. And like a shadow, it follows me, draining me of all of the energy I have. Getting out of bed proves damn near impossible, yet I manage. Smiling seems like the hardest task, and something that I don’t want to do. Basic tasks seem strenuous, and tiresome, yet all I want to do is distract myself even more. Like I want something to fall on my lap, and take my full attention, but it never happens. That dark, inhuman thing remains within eyesight, reminding me of my sick thoughts. It reminds me of my insecurities, and of my doubts, but it does so in such a painful way. It’s like it carves out all of my negativity in my soul in such a slow, agonizing way. I want to be productive, because of fear of failure, but I don’t have the energy to do so. I’m tired all the time, and all I want to do is sleep. The suicidal thoughts are a lot ouder, and I won’t go a day without thinking about death at least three or four times. These are my normal days.
There are moments, while I’m driving alone, that the worse of my depression hits me. This isn’t as often as my normal days, but it happens more frequent than my rare “calm” days. Unlike the other two, I don’t feel weight all over my body. Rather than that, I feel weightless. It’s that same feeling as one gets when they’re dreaming. It’s that sensation where you know you’re asleep, and whatever you did while asleep couldn’t hurt you. Like, if I wanted to plow into the cars in front of me, or drive my car out of a bridge, I could do so. And like a dream, I would wake up. That’s what it’s telling me. My depression tells me it’s ok to die. My darkest, and most painful thought couldn’t touch me there. They wouldn’t hurt me. As my mind begins to think of a sweet ending, my body moves on its own. Before I could act upon my selfish desires, I find myself home, sleep eagerly waiting for me.
That is the best I can do to paint my depression, though I know I can go deeper. These words cannot fully describe my daily struggles. I cannot paint my anxiety as it befriends my depression. The deadly combination may be the end of me, and at this very second they have made my heart and mind their home. They will never leave, as they have made themselves permanent residents. I hate it, yet they’ve made themselves a part of me, and I cannot shake them off. I can’t get rid of them. I can’t will it away, I can only find distractions to lighten the weight on my body. As I am writing this, my anger is slowly subsiding, though a few sparks remain. But I did not write this to tell you about me, or to open myself up to you. I wanted to explain my anger. I wanted to explain to you why for the past few days I have been so ANGRY. It is due to someone’s ignorance.
Everyone comes with baggage; that goes without saying. Now-a-days, people go through terrible events, and they have to bare it on their own. Many of them cannot find the words to describe their pain. Many would rather hurt themselves, than see pain in the eyes of their loved ones as they reveal their sorrow. Many might not even have someone to talk to. In a brief moment, when the individual finally decides to open up, and allow someone in, it is probably the scariest, stressful, anxiety-filled nightmare they may ever have. What would they do with what they saw? Would you feel more pain? Would they hurt you? Nothing seems to be as painful as allowing someone in, and having them hurt you. It’s amazing how much mental, and emotional pain hurts the soul. It hurts far worse than any physical wound, and takes far longer to heal.
This particular person, whose name shall remain anonymous, was allowed into my darkest, most painful corners of my psyche. This person saw almost everything, and wanted to help. There were moments where he provided a distraction, and most days where he found himself busy with video games. But I didn’t show him everything so that he could fix everything. I just wanted someone to talk and vent to. I didn’t want to be left alone with my demons. It was selfish of me, and I should not expect someone to accept my burdens. I can only speak for myself when I say that my depression and anxiety is a part of who I am. His ideas of “fixing” it consisted of trips to a church, believing in God, taking the time to have my future told, or my palms read. We did none of those. They were all things that I do not believe in. All he provided were words, no actions, though he described himself as “Mr. Fix-It”. I do not blame him, nor am I angry about that. I am angry because a few days ago,he said I wasn’t trying hard enough. I was not trying hard enough to end my depression. That because I wasn’t willing to believe in God, or do any of the things HE suggested, I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I did not want help. Even writing this hurts so much, and I am trying to hold back tears. For someone who does not suffer from long term depression and anxiety, HE truly believed that I wasn’t trying. Like I had given up in life, and accepted defeat. I am teetering between life and death, but I haven’t died yet. I haven’t killed myself yet, despite everything. This isn’t something I chose to have, nor is it something that will ever leave me. Yet he believes depression has a cure. It doesn’t, at least not for me. There is no cure, just medication. There is no light that I can see, just darkness. He believes that every problem has a solution, and he was brought to provide solutions. Life doesn’t work that way, yet every time I tell him that, it goes over his head. He won’t hear something he doesn’t agree with or understand. You cannot solve a problem if you do not understand the variables. He suddenly became this “expert” on me, and my depression, though he has only known me for two and a half years. The more I write, the more sparks of anger I feel. I guess the whole point of this is to tell those individuals who have a chance to listen, a chance to really know another person who suffers from depression (what have you) just listen. Please know and understand that some of us just want someone to listen and to talk to. Don’t ever talk down to someone, and think you know more about their depression than they do. Don’t make them feel weak, and stupid. Just listen. If you cannot do that, then walk away, and take care of yourself. There is no shame in that. And for those who are going through things, I hope you do find someone, and they never make you feel anything less than special.
