“i don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity”May 18, 2012
i thought about writing this a few days ago and i put it off. i don’t really have a good reason other than fear. Fear of what might come out as i type, fear of what people might say or think, fear of starting to cry and never being able to stop. But i hope that whatever does come out it makes a difference for me or maybe you.
i don’t know where to start because i’m having trouble NOT thinking too much about this. i need to just write unedited and get things out but that’s scary too. So i guess it’s going to be like when i was learning to dive at camp and i was terrified but i didn’t want to show how scared i was so i just took a deep breath and did it.
i’ve talked a little before about being depressed. i don’t usually say much about it because the conversation that tends to come after is one that makes me start shaking and break out into hives (literally, i break out in hives when i get anxious) and sometimes i let my head play games with me and tell me that my depression isn’t bad enough to talk about with some people because they have bigger problems. And sometimes this sucks because since i don’t talk about it regularly when i do talk about it, it seems like they think it is a brief period of time where i am depressed not an everyday thing that i am constantly struggling with.
But that’s the truth. It’s everyday. And i struggle. i haven’t cut in a long time but that doesn’t mean it isn’t something i don’t think about because sometimes i can’t figure out how else to get everything inside out. Writing used to be an outlet but i’ve let a few not awesome people put little ideas in my head about my writing that then bloomed under the darkness of my negative voice. So now sitting down and writing a story or even a poem is a major fight with myself where one side of me knows that i NEED to do it and the other side can’t find a point in it and thinks it is a waste of time that no one cares about and no one wants to read and will never get me anywhere in life.
And those negative voices are so loud sometimes. Sometimes i can’t hear anything over them. . . sometimes i don’t want to because it’s just easier to give up. But, really, i don’t want to give up. i’ve been at that point too many times and i don’t want to get there again. i don’t want to have to move to a new city because i’m so scared that if i stay i will kill myself. (no that was not this most recent move back to the cornfield but it was one in the not distant enough past) So i’m fighting but it sucks. And that’s part of the reason i have my happiness projects because sometimes i don’t feel like i can fight and i need something, anything that can bring me back from all of the spinning, shaky confines of my head and sometimes that is watching a youtube video or looking at a picture or reading a book. . . anything that will make my brain slow down for a second or a minute.
i had hoped that moving back here would make things better and in so many ways it has. For one, i have people around which makes me think twice when i want to cut. For another i know there are people that i can call or see that i am not destined to be a hermit for the rest of my life and people here have been awesome at making me feel loved and cared about even when i haven’t seen them in years or thought they had given up on me. But in reality that’s just part of it. And yes, it’s a big part but it doesn’t fix the whole problem.
i know part of this has to do with the fact that when i moved i lost my insurance for a little over 90 days because while i basically have the same job with technically the same company they have different management groups so it couldn’t be considered a transfer. That of course meant the meds that i was on stopped. But i also know that my meds would be better off prescribed by a psychiatrist not just my doctor but the reality of life is that my job doesn’t pay me enough to go to a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist, a dentist, a gynecologist, and whatever else and still do things like eat or pay my bills or save money so that i can do what i really want to do in life so i have to make choices and unfortunately many times the thing that gets sacrificed is my mental health. i know that shouldn’t be the way it is but sometimes it’s easier to put on a mask and go through your day than to admit, even to yourself, that you need more help than you’re getting.
So really i don’t know why i’m writing this other than the fact that i needed to get some of it out. And the people i could once talk to about it are no longer options and maybe that’s good because i tend to try and hold on to people when i shouldn’t because i think that maybe if i can do that i won’t have to admit i’ve been rejected or abandoned again. And there are other people that i probably could talk to but we’ve never had this kind of conversation and i’m scared of bringing it up. And there are a few who i actually have bits and pieces of this conversation with and i love them more than i could ever explain for it.
Because it’s hard when there are things that trigger you into a downward spiral and you weren’t expecting it. It’s hard to get back up, it’s hard to fall gracefully. And sometimes i get so overwhelmed with, not only my own life, but also the world around me that i can’t seem to grasp at anything resembling words and all i can do is cry and while i cry my brain starts churning out negative thought after negative thought so that i honestly feel like it might never stop and that’s usually when i start having a panic attack.
So basically i’m trying to do what i tell other people to do all the time. i have often talked about how upset i get at mental illness still being so taboo. i tell people there is no shame in it, that there is no shame asking for help or admitting you have a problem. However, i’m not always so good at doing any of it. But this is my attempt at it.
i don’t want you to think i’m writing this from some point of desperation or anything, i’m not. But i’m writing this from a place where i need to get this out instead of holding it in for any longer. i’m writing this at a point where i’m trying to take an active role in my mental health in order to make it better as long as that may take. i’m writing this to remind myself that my depression is just as real as any of the other people i know and that it is worthy of my own self care and the awareness of the people who care about me because they deserve to know.
i hope this isn’t terribly non-sensical because i’m not going to edit it because i’m afraid if i do i’ll delete it all.