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Every moment, I know its going to happen. The other shoe is going to drop and I will die. From my own hand, maybe, because it will be so awful. I will not be able to handle it.
It’s morning. The worst for me. I’ve been up most of the night tossing and turning. There is no such thing as healthy sleep. I try to get out of bed, and I can’t because I am being crushed by my own thoughts. Thoughts of my hell day flash through the diseased filters of my mind. Welcome to me.
To understand this, or to understand depression in general, you ‘un-sick’ people out there need to get into the mood…and you must be willing to ‘feel’ …even though – actually, especially if – it hurts.
What is the worst thing that ever happened to you ? Did someone close to you die ? Were you in a terrible accident? Did someone you love dump you for another? Did a close friend betray you? How did you feel when you first learned of death and/or betrayal? Did you feel lightheaded and confused for a moment? Then did the train hit you? As the initial days wore on, did you feel ‘better’, or did your gut remain tight and your breath short? Did vivid images attack you – e.g. how the person died and what he or she felt? Or did you picture your love in bed with another? Or did you picture your best friend having good times with others, but not you?
You must feel those feelings here – as though it just happened. Do it. Not just for a moment. Rather, close your eyes and hold the thoughts with all your might. Go deeper – what is the morgue going to do to the loved one that died? What acts is your love doing with the ‘other’ person? What are all the places and events going to be that you will never enjoy with your friend? Keep your eyes closed and force the images to stay in your mind. Make the images and feelings go round and round – like a carousel. And feel the blackness. Feel the short breath.
Don’t open your eyes: I can’t – even with my eyes open. Those harsh, tortuous feelings never leave. Rather, they attack like an onslaught – it’s like right before you thrown up – the sick feeling, the acid in your stomach. But the feeling stays – you can’t throw up for relief. Rather, the feelings pull you down, and down. And it gets darker and darker. Keep your eyes closed – try to open them, but do not let yourself open them. Feel the despair. Feel yourself unable to move. Feel yourself cry. And feel what it would feel like to believe it will never go away.
Now, imagine having these symptoms arise and fall at whim. Imagine them holding on and terrorizing you for hours, or even days. Imagine you have absolutely no control over them. Imagine that you have to function at work, at school, among friends, at family functions – sometimes while your gut is coming out. Imagine that they appear to be with you for the rest of your life.
Imagine the feelings never going away. Unlike other post-catastrophe mental states, there is never the occasional or sporadic relief that the mind creates for self survival in emergencies. Imagine sometimes being in the dark hole every waking minute. Imagine that you cannot even see straight – like you are partially drunk. Imagine that those feelings mentioned previously never go away – those from the death, the heartbreak, the betrayal. Rather, they ebb and flow all day long, or suddenly, out of nowhere, they attack without notice.
Can you feel it, even for a moment? If so, welcome to major depression. Lucky you, though. You can put this writing down and leave. I cannot.
What is this called? Some tell me I am a ‘major depressive’. Some say I am bipolar, because I have incidents, though not frequently, where I am acting in a sort of manic stage – very outward, intense, wired, like on speed, doing things I otherwise might not – and then I crash. But the lows far exceed the highs. Some say I am OCD – I can’t let things go. I’ll do things over and over and over – to be perfect and lose the forest through the trees. I also have panic attacks. Sometimes I’m unable to get off the floor, even to do something as simple as take a shower. Often I just want to stay in my house and not talk to anyone. To sleep. That is my savior. Sometimes weekends at a time. What the fuck am I? Does it matter? Maybe for insurance purposes. Maybe for the meds to be prescribed? The many meds. I am an addict.
Writing this is kinda good and kinda sucks. It is good because others who suffer will read it, and perhaps this will help them know they are not alone. It sucks because it puts things into words and reminds me of what I am – fucked up. If I don’t have my six little pills every day, bad things happen. Actually, bad things happen even if I take the pills, but without them, I get much worse. But is it the addiction to the drugs which makes it worse – i.e. without them I freak? Or, do I truly suffer from chemical imbalances? I am not willing to try life without them. Before I began to take them, I almost died. For me, it works like this: survival = drugs. No drugs = death. I
n my sick head, I am so afraid of the impending disaster, and that it will cause my death, I am unable to think that someday I will die anyway, so I might as well enjoy life while I can. That, however, would be a healthy thought – I am unable to accept it, or believe it. Because it is bullshit – failure and disaster are my world. Joy is for everyone else. They are all so lucky, I think, because at least they don’t suffer from my hell – that which I cannot get away from.
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