In Listening to Myself – Part 1 I quoted from posts leading up to my wedding last November. In those posts I had expressed feeling trapped and stifled, particularly in my relationships with Mom, Fox, and Fox’s family. Those feelings haven’t particularly gone away, despite efforts to improve communication.
I’ve been feeling suicidal again; Will Hall argues that feeling suicidal is not giving up on life, but needing significant change and feeling helpless to create that change. (Giving up on life would be going through the motions expected of us by society… interestingly enough, I expressed that view in my post, Giving In.) I need to figure out what changes I need, and acquire whatever help I need to make them happen, really soon. My mind’s come up with a specific way I could kill myself, and I have the means. It’s just a matter of will.
I keep telling myself that if I straighten this place up it will be more pleasant to live in, but it doesn’t happen. Why? I keep telling myself I’ll feel better if I follow through on the summer course I’m registered to take in August, or the second composition contest I learned about, or planning the family celebration of my wedding… but it doesn’t happen. Why? I keep telling myself if I exercise and make better food choices I’ll feel better and be happier, but it doesn’t happen. Why? I keep telling myself that if I want to be a music therapist I need to practice my instruments and learn songs, but it doesn’t happen. Why?
Am I waiting for permission? From Fox? It’s not going to happen. It’s just not how he operates. It’s not how anyone operates.
I need to lead; I need to say, “This is happening now. Please help me.”
But I’m so tired. I stayed up at least an hour later than I should have last night because… I don’t know. He was on the couch with me, and I wanted to interact with him. But all the dialogue was happening inside my own head and I was falling asleep and he was trying to solve a puzzle on his phone. Moving so I could actually sleep took so much energy…
The alarm went off early this morning because we wanted to beat the heat and do the yard work Mom’s agreed to pay us for. He reset the alarm and went back to sleep. My mind continued the incoherent dialogue from last night and I kind of wanted to get up, possibly do something meaningful? I guess reading articles and watching videos about topics that are important to me, and commenting on them, is meaningful. I guess writing this post is meaningful. Right?
I feel like there’s so much inside me, but I can’t let it out. Some of it, like the irrational anger, isn’t safe to let out. Not in the form it wants to come out, anyway. Some of it, like the tears, is just more of the same old stuff I’ve been expressing over and over again, with no change. It doesn’t seem to be helping anything, so why bother crying? I think I may have figured out why I have these urges to cut myself; my emotions want to create a crack in my armor, a weak point from whence they can burst out. Or, if I can’t let them out, at least I can let something out…
Every so often I feel happy for a second, and I have to remind myself that it’s okay to feel happy. It’s okay to have energy. It’s even okay to act a bit silly. But it’s hard when the person you’re with can’t pick up on that and amplify it. I feel like I have to be depressed when the people I’m around are depressed. What, I have emotions? No, that’s impossible. I’m just a mirror for everyone else. I reflect whatever emotions they seem to be expressing.
I feel cut off from Creation – by which I don’t mean “nature,” though I could use some quality time with it that doesn’t involve getting sunburn, killing plants (“weeds”), or being terrified of yellow jackets. I mean I feel cut off from the process of Creation that is so important and sacred to humans, most religions attribute it to at least one of their deities. Music, art, writing, dance, building, gardening, political debate, bungee jumping, anything! I need something to do that creates something other than waste. I feel like all I’m doing is consuming: food, media, energy, money. My mind tells me I’m a waste of space and resources, and it has a point. What good am I doing by merely existing?
Hell, if I had a job I hated at least I could put part of each paycheck into my savings account and create… a savings account with a balance that increases periodically. That’s the thing: I could play music, write, draw, whatever… but would what I created be meaningful? Would anyone else care that I created it? Would it actually do anything?
This is achingly honest– it is especially painful to read because your anonymity makes it difficult to reach out with the kind of support and reassurance that I wish I could offer. I think that when you are in the throes of depression sometimes just putting one foot in front of another and getting through a day is meaningful enough. I watch my own daughter struggle in the same way, and she often seems weighted down with the sense that there is so much to change in her life that it is impossible to start. I try to encourage her just to focus on the one, small thing that is manageable for today. Better to say to yourself, “I wrote a good blog post today” than to focus on everything you “might” have done.
One of my daughter’s counsellors described depression as like being covered by a heavy blanket. I found that metaphor helpful. Perhaps when there are days when the blanket is too heavy to move it’s enough just to roll back one corner and peek at the sun.
The world needs you Ziya.
I love muddy river’s comment. Depression creeps up trying to trick us into believing we aren’t doing enough with our lives, or not being productive enough. I have gone through similar feelings you have posted and all I can offer is the advice to love yourself through it, or at least tell yourself you’re worth crawling out of it. You are.
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