A Day with depression

I would like to start off with saying that this is nothing more than a personal experience. Something that was painful to write and open up about. I believe that with things like depression it is so important to be deeply honest. I wrote this as a form of self healing and I'm sharing it in the hope that i can show an insight into how hard day to day life can be when you are plagued with depression. By sharing and talking about things you take away the power which isolates you in them.

A Day with Depression

I wake up, it takes a while to force my eyes open. I contemplate whether today will be different. I wonder whether the pain inside my own head will subside long enough to convince myself out of my comfies and into normal clothes. Today the answer no. I lay there, catatonic for at least an hour. It’s strange because in this pit of duvets and warmth, time means nothing. You watch an hour tick by with no emotion or feeling towards your life slipping away from you. Eventually you mange to muster up the courage to turn your laptop on and watch the same series for the 8th time. It has to be one you have already seen, this way you don’t really have to concentrate on it. Something light hearted makes for the perfect background noise. See if you have music on this can bring up all kinds of emotions and this is what we are trying to avoid. Plus, if anyone comes in, it looks less concerning to be watching TV at 3 in the afternoon, then listening to sad music and starring up at the ceiling begging yourself not to cry again.

I’m not always one of these introvert depressives. I like to mix and match. I go out a lot, I party and take excessive amounts of narcotics. Downers are my go-to, this way for a few hours I can pretend that I’m fun, that I like myself and everything inside my head isn’t screaming abuse at how I’m probably the worst human I know. Usually this works as a good balance, I enjoy myself and then hate myself. I’m not saying its healthy or even right but it worked. Although this formula I have been relying on since I was 15 has inevitably stopped being as effective. Now when I’m out it takes everything I have to not break down and cry. Turns out everything I have isn’t enough, I’m officially one of those crying drunks. I hate that. I hate how everyone tries to give you a hug and tell you its going to be ok. They ask you what’s wrong and, in all honesty, I can’t explain what’s happening in my head, I just feel so embarrassed it makes me hate myself more. I don’t want to sound ungrateful; I should feel so lucky to have friends that care, but I don’t feel it, I don’t appreciate it. I just feel alone and sad. Also, I’m not big on the personal contact thing. I just don’t like being touched, something about it stress me deep to my core.

It’s weird though, because I crave contact. I crave the feeling of being loved again. But I can’t bring myself to be surrounded by it. I used to validate myself through sex but now even that just scares me. I don’t love myself in any way and I can’t imagine why anyone ever would. I’m terrified to be touched in case that could lead to more, but more is all I ever think about. See I’ve developed this concept, this theory powered by my own paranoia. I believe that people love the idea of me, at first, they tell me how great I am and for a split second I nearly believe them. Then they get to know me, then they leave. They realise that I’m too much, too damaged, I’m harsh and traumatised and no one wants to deal with that. So, they distance, then leave and really, I can’t blame them. I compare myself constantly to the people around me and become deeply saddened in the idea that I will never be as pretty, fun or nice as them. I want validation through others as I deprive myself of it, yet I view the world as full of people that will never love me. This has now led to a deep anxiety issue making it impossible to leave my house without feeling like I’m going to start hyperventilating. I allow men to treat me awfully and keep returning to them hoping that one of them will prove me wrong. But with no respect for myself how can I ever expect it from men. It’s a self-fulling prophecy with no evidence as of yet to prove me wrong.

I use humour as a defence mechanism. I’m aware that jokes about how I never want to leave my bed and about how the world is killing me off slowly makes some uncomfortable, but I really couldn’t care less. Using my depression as a hyperbole is something that makes it easier to deal with. By being light hearted about it, it makes everything seem for a minute a little less dark. I really do think that the odd occasion when life hasn’t been destroying me from the inside out that I’ve actually been less funny. At least I can make myself laugh, even if others don’t.

I get called a bitch a lot, I get called harsh a lot and constantly get the shit ripped into me. This has always been fine as i give it as much as I take it. But recently I feel that I don’t give it. I just feel broken and it’s a constant reminder of how I view myself just spoken from others lips. I feel like I give off a persona of being strong and confident. I tried to explain in chokes of tears that I’m not okay, I don’t feel strong and I don’t feel confident. I’m sick of being told I can deal with this; I really don’t know if I can. I’ve tried to sort it out, tried to tell the world that I’m doing just great because hopefully the more I do the more likely it will come true. But here I am, 10 days deep into my own isolation, having not left my room all week begging myself to just feel something, anything. To just be given a sign that its worthwhile me staying alive. I’ve slept through most of it because if I’m not conscious then I don’t have to think, at least there I’m safe.

The thing is I feel everything and nothing. I don’t know how to explain it other than its like a burning ball inside my chest of all the pain I’ve ever felt, it sits there scorching my core until I finally I snap and it all floods out in anger or uncontrolled sadness. Then it’s gone, I’m empty and cold. For a day or two this is all I feel. No true emotions just the endless watching of Netflix’s as I continually tell myself after the next episode I will get out of my bed and I will do something. Its suddenly 1 in the morning and I lay there hoping I can sleep. I switch between sleeping constantly to not being able sleep at all. Just lying there empty minded wondering when this will end. I’ve never quite figured out an equilibrium in life. I seem to only manage extremes.

I do fear for my future, but I have no real desire to change and help myself. I’m so used to this feeling now, it’s my own odd reality, I know it so well I bizarrely feel safe in it. I’ve tried to stop; I really truly have. But something always pulls me right back in. I do things or put myself in situations that I know are going to negatively affect me. It’s almost like I want the pain. I usually do this is the periods where I’m feeling nothing, I guess I just get desperate to feel something and then it all hits me and I can’t deal with it. Ironic isn’t it. I’ve let this depression and previous traumas define who I am for so long now I have no idea who I am without it. I think in reality I’m just scarred to be happy. In the words of Nirvana I would “miss the comfort of being sad”. I idolise traumatised artists, in the hope that its possible that someone else feels the same. I’m not so self-involved that I believe I’m the only one that has ever felt this, but depression has this funny way of making you feel so isolated you find it hard to breathe.

I lock myself away because I feel like people don’t like having me around. Or every time I come back from seeing people, I feel hurt, I don’t know why. So often they do nothing but be kind to me. I’m so aware that it's me that’s the problem but I can’t explain the pain I feel after being surrounded by people I love. Maybe I just don’t feel worthy. When I’m alone I don’t have to pretend, I don’t have to put on a front and worry constantly about whether people actually like the person i am. I think maybe I’m waiting for someone to try and save me, because I don’t feel like I can myself. I just want someone to care long enough to acknowledge that this behaviour isn’t ok. But they all just tell me I’m fine, they know I can pull myself out. What if I don’t this time? I’m in no way blaming them, they have their own shit going on and I'm becoming more aware of the fact I have a complex of wanting to save others in the hope that someone might save me, pull me out of this hell hole of a house into a sunny bright future. I read far too many love books and watch far too many chick flicks. I feel as though I will never find love so I might as well watch other people do it in a make-believe land where once they get their happily ever after it’s the end. I wish I was one of these girls from a Rom-Com, bet they never contemplated what it would feel like to hit their head against a wall till they knocked themselves out.

Then there’s this issue of body image. I hate the way I look. I get called curvy all the time, I just hear fat. Its well hidden by my big boobs and somehow bigger bum. I wonder how “curvy” I would be if I was flat chested. I have food issues, who doesn’t these days. I used to eat when I was sad, Id get so stoned that all I could think about was food and it would ease the pain for a bit. But I started hating myself so much that I couldn’t do it anymore. I now eat one meal a day. When I break this, I feel so guilty that I want to cry. The savage part is I actually lost a bit of weight and that made me happy for the first time in a while. All its done is bury me deeper in this negative relationship with food though. I’m obsessive with the way I look. I look back on photos and videos of myself constantly and analyse my social media profiles wondering what people who don’t know me must think? Do I look like I’m having fun? Can they see past this facade into my hatred? Do see every part of me that I hate as much as I can? The answer is probably no, but that doesn’t stop me imagining it. I know I’m pessimistic but its hard not to be living with me every day.

To top it all off I have no idea why I have just spent the last two hours of my day writing this. It was something to do other than staring at a wall I suppose. Its kind of stopped the feeling of hopelessness for a bit. I wish I could end this on a positive note like “tomorrow will be better I know it will!” or “I’m going to make a change now I promise” but I don’t want to lie to you or myself for that matter. I can reassure you in the fact that for the first time in weeks I feel a moment of contentment. All I can do is just hope that this doesn’t end within the next hour.