Monday, February 5, 2018

The Joys of Depression

Now why would anyone possibly name a blog entry the JOYS of depression?

Lucky for you, I am here to explain it.  Thinks about it. What mental illness gives you a pass on compulsively consuming ridiculous amounts of chocolate, ice cream, and other incredibly bad for you foods?  -While also allowing you to climb into your bed for days on end and not come out except to use the bathroom or snarl at whomever has disturbed what feels like a very necessary need for sleep?  I mean, shit, if you gotta have a mental illness, this one seems kinda cool.


Cool, IF you don't mind feeling like you are useless, unloved, unloveable, and a total failure because you just can't get out of bed, can't stop eating compulsively (frankly I find the phase of not wanting to eat much easier to live with). And while you might not necessarily want to die this time around, you really don't have the energy for life either.

Well meaning people- some who should know better- tell you to think happy thoughts.  Don't dwell on the bad, on the fear, the stressors, the dark shit.  Just get up and move and it will make you feel better.  Drag your ass to that counselor you have been seeing for years (because you know the alternative involves lots of illegal drugs or alcohol or some rabbit hole you may never return from.)

"Ohhh.... okay.  Gosh, I sure wish I'd figured that out on my own.  Thank goodness you are here to share that tidbit of helpfulness."

You really want to help?  Sit on my couch and not talk to me.  Just be there.  Or listen to me cry and then tell me while it's okay to cry, and yeah all those things suck, they probably will look better in a week, a month, a year. Tell me today is not endless.  Tell me it's okay to be sad, because I have real reasons to be sad.  Tell me, when I have the energy to listen, that I am worthy, that even though I can't hear it right now, I am worth it- whatever IT is.

Don't expect immediate results.  Don't expect I'm going to suddenly jump up healed and happy-and frankly if I do, I'm most likely acting to get you away from me.  Understand that I just spent all day at work putting every ounce of energy I had into being "normal" so people around me don't know how little I care.  How little I don't want to be there.  How I just want to feel either something good or some times, something at all.

Eventually it sinks in.  A piece of your care sinks in and puts a dent in the part of me that tells me I am worthless, useless, pathetic.  Slowly over time, the pinholes that you have punched into the darkness are enough that they become stars in the night.  Stars I can focus on and wish into a larger and larger existence until one day, I get out of bed.  I eat that apple over the candy bar.  And the days become weeks, and the weeks, months, before the dark descends again. 

And next time, it's just a little bit easier to find those pinholes.  A little easier to get out of bed.  A little easier to hear someone when they say, "You are good enough."

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