Number 21 | Depression is an utter bastard …

I decided in a brief moment of seriousness to write about depression and how it affects me. Please be aware, this is mainly a huge stream of conscience written in the moment – today has not been great for me and I’m writing things as I think them, so it may not read well at all. But I’m trying to give a small insight into how I feel. I’m trying to put it into words, which is something I’ve not done before.

 

Feeling suicidal is a regular occurrence for me. That’s not great, I’m well aware of it. But it’s also not an “attention thing” – if I wanted attention, I’d tell people something great about me that we could talk about, do the whole humble brag thing like, “oh, this dress? You like it? I wasn’t sure how it looked …” when you know you look fucking awesome. If I truly wanted to be talked about and have people fawn over me, I would do that. I do not tell people I want to kill myself for attention. There is no way of saying, “I’m suicidal” without it seeming stupendously over-dramatic.

One friend I said it to – and she is lovely, don’t get me wrong – responded with, “and how am I supposed to deal with this?” Thanks for making me feel guilty about sharing with you.

When I feel depressed I do things that will make me feel worse. I go on things like Facebook, for no reason other than to see what’s going on with all the “friends” who have no interest in me; who are, quite frankly, a bunch of backstabbing cunts (that really, really hurt). To see pictures of my ex. It’s like, I’m already feeling bad. Let’s go the whole way and really feel bad!

So I do things that make me feel worse, yet I don’t want to feel worse. I deal with bad news by responding in a not-very-mature way. I recently auditioned for something and when I didn’t get it (mainly because I’m already involved in something else) I responded with, “Oh, but I would have quit that. Anyway, it’s fine, I won’t be around the theatre much.” I want people to ask why, to ask what’s going on, to ask IF I’M ALRIGHT. Because I’m not alright.

But when people do ask if I’m alright, that depresses me more, particularly on a good day.

Imagine this. You’re having a brilliant day, everything’s going great, and then someone says, “Hey, remember when your dog died and how upset you were?” Immediately you remember this. Maybe you were trying to forget about it. Maybe it had gone from your mind in that particular second because you were enjoying something. Maybe it was so long ago that you are now over it, or feel like you are. And now in the one question, it’s brought back everything you thought you didn’t feel anymore.  You feel sad. You remember how upset you were at that time and it spoils the moment for you now. This is how it works for me. I can be having an absolute blast and all it takes is for someone to ask me how I am … And that’s it. Because I remember that I’m not good. It makes me remember that I’m not good. Things might not even be particularly shit but there is something, a memory or something, that gets triggered.

I deal with things by talking about them to anyone who will listen (weirdly enough, not my parents). But I want to talk about the stuff that’s bothering me … My ex, say, or the current male friend who has decided he doesn’t want any contact with me at all, for reasons I don’t understand. These are the thing that are going round and round in my head on a constant loop and sometimes it gets too much. And that’s not even helpful talking. It’s just vocalising what’s in my head. Instead of screaming or whatever else I could do, I cry and then turn to what feels like my only other option – death.

I don’t want to go on like this, I don’t. Killing myself is the definitive way to make all the shit stop for good. And don’t give me the bollocks that I already know, about how it will destroy my parents or my friends. I know that, okay? A guilt trip is not what I need. But the point is, I don’t know what I need. Usually I just ride it out. Cry and overthink until I fall asleep, or something else comes along to distract me. It’s not a constant thing, and I don’t need to be supervised around sharp knives, or train tracks, or tall buildings. But I do keep giving myself “expiry dates” – right now, I can’t kill myself until after the production that I’m in finishes in October because I’ve told people I’m in it and I don’t want to let them down. But of course I’m also putting it off because I’m scared and I don’t want to kill myself at all. I tried cutting my wrists four weeks ago and it fucking HURTS. That was without going deep enough to make it bleed. The thing is, slashing my wrists was my definitive death option because it’s over pretty quickly and is quite reliable. So if that option is out because I can’t face pain, how else am I going to do it?!

So how do I sum up something I don’t even understand? Here’s exactly what happened today because an actual example is more helpful, to me anyway.

  1. Something comes up that makes me feel sad. Today it was a conversation about this friend who’s decided he wants no contact with me. I said I hate him. Of course I don’t hate him. I just want my friend back.
  2. I cry.
  3. I completed a job application.
  4. I searched for the employer on Linked In, mainly trying to find out if they were male or female (silly ambiguous names).
  5. I searched for my ex on Linked In, the only social network we’re connected on.
  6. I saw his picture. He’s also updated his profile.
  7. I go on Facebook and look at some of our mutual friends, mainly to try and find a picture of him. Why? I don’t know. When I did see pictures of him I scrolled right past them anyway.
  8. This made me think of how many things I would have been invited to (maybe) if these “friends” hadn’t decided to be dicks.
  9. I cried some more.
  10. I started writing this.

Although this post has been on my ‘to do’ list for a while, I couldn’t approach it while I was in a good mood because thinking of depression would bring my mood right down and I didn’t want that. I knew some opportunity would present itself sooner or later when I would feel like crap and that turned out to be today. Hence the post.

 

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say anymore. I don’t want to feel sad all the time but I also want to talk about it all of the time which then makes me sad. I want someone to ask me if I’m alright but then I don’t because that makes me think, “Ooh, actually, I’m not alright.” I want to kill myself but I also really, really don’t. I wish I could deal with bad things – even minor bad things – with a “don’t care” attitude. “He’s not worth it. “ “Men are dicks.” “That’s too bad but something else will come up.” I can say all of those things out loud but definitely don’t feel them deep down.

Depression does not make even the slightest bit of sense.

There is no real good way to end this post, so I’m just going to leave it at that. Thanks for reading.

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