girlicide

When I’m depressed, I never feel much like talking about it.  That’s a big problem, too.  I know people around me just want to help but there is nothing they can say to make me feel any less upset, ridiculous, pissed off, and/or suicidal.  In fact, it’s when friends push me to talk when things tend to get worse.  The only real friend I have right now that I see on a semi-daily basis constantly yells at me when I don’t talk to her.  Yeah… like that is going to make me want to suddenly pour my heart out to you.

It’s so hard for people to realize that you can’t just snap out of depression.  I’ve been told so many times by people to just “wake up” or “force a smile for God’s sake, things can’t be that bad!” I don’t even want to argue with them anymore.  So I just smirk, nod and stare at the ground and think horrible things like “I just want to take an entire bottle of pills and stop hurting or hang myself in the garage so I don’t have to listen to people like you anymore telling me ’shit can’t be that bad’ because you know what?  IT CAN AND IT IS!” I swear empathy doesn’t exist anymore.  Everyone just wants to offer a quick fix but trust me, there isn’t one.  There is absolutely nothing on earth you can say or do that will make me “snap out of it” and realize that I’m “just being silly’” or “too self-absorbed.”

I’ll stay in bed all day.  And I really do mean that.  An entire 16 hours will pass before I can even peel myself up off the sheets only to sit for another 45 minutes on the edge of the bed before taking my first step out of my room.  My joints burn due to the fact that they’ve been in the same position hours on end so I can’t help but hunch over and spend the rest of the day in a state of bad posture.  My brain sloshes around inside my skull, obviously turning to soup because I don’t think or move for many hours.  And the headaches.  I’ll have to take Clonazepam some nights to get me to sleep some nights or to stop me from crying.  Anything that makes me pass out is a good thing because then I don’t have to think anymore.  I can just dream and that giant lump in my throat will slowly shrink in size and disappear.  Lately I’ve noticed there are nights where I must cry in my sleep because I awake with swollen lips and eyes and dried tears all over my face.  I’ll quietly get up, change the pillow cases, and then try to fall back asleep.

Poor Toby will sit at the end of my bed for hours wondering when I’m going to get up.  That’s what really kills me.  I’ll be so down and sad, I can’t even get up to let my dog out.  When I finally do, it takes every bit of energy my body can summon to walk up ten steps out of the basement.  By the time I get to the top, I have to sit down for five minutes just to collect a little more energy to continue the walk to the back door to let him outside.  Once I get him fed and make sure he’s pooped and peed, I slither back down to my room and throw myself back onto the bed.  I find some sort of covers, throw them over my face, and disappear back into a darkness I can’t even begin to describe.  Toby knows something is wrong and scurries back downstairs to cuddle up next to my head.  I know the poor thing is probably wanting me to get up and play with him but he forces himself to fall back asleep with me just because it’s the only activity I can manage to do without feeling exhausted.  And I know that he can feel the darkness inside of me and doesn’t know what else to do.  Right now Toby really is the only thing keeping me alive.  It’s sad but very true.

I was supposed to make a phone call today to my college regarding me not attending classes this fall.  I couldn’t manage to make that call – a call I should have made months ago.  But I literally cannot find the strength in me to dial the number and talk to the person on the other end of the line.  It takes too much energy and mental will power that I just do not have.  You might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest – it just won’t happen.  And it’s worse when it comes to my family.  My poor mother will call me every now and then and trying not to burst into tears on the phone with her is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a long time.  What I really want to say to her is “No mom, I am not doing ok.  Everyday I’m amazed that I’m still here; that I’m still fucking breathing.  I am lonely as shit, I hate myself most days, and I hate opening my eyes in the morning because it hurts.  It physically causes me pain.  And I fucking hate it and I wish it was over with.  I wish *I* was over with.  I wish I was with dad because for once in my life, I know what he must have felt the day he killed himself – complete fucking despair and hopelessness.” But there is no way I can tell my elderly mother this (who worries about everything).  How can I put that burden on someone else?

I can’t stand talking to people when I’m this depressed.  There is nothing they have to say that will interest me or make me smile (I mean genuinely smile, not fake it).  Sometimes after forcing myself to listen to someone ramble on about God knows what, I get the fierce urge to vomit.  I just can’t take it and sometimes I’ll have to excuse myself to the bathroom and just lock myself in a stall for a minute or two and try to calm myself down.  I don’t care, I just really do not fucking care.  Shut up.  I would rather stare at this disgusting toilet than listen to you talk right now.  If that makes me a bad person, then so be it.

I’ve been off and on medications for years now and the most common question people ask me is “why don’t you just get on some antidepressants?” Well, first and foremost, I have tried some various medications that HAVE worked.  However, when I say “worked,” I mean they completely managed to shut off most of my emotions in general and turned me into a zombie.  I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t write, I couldn’t form sentences, I sounded like a babbling idiot, and more often than not people would tell me that something was missing from my eyes; some sort of spark.  Sometimes I couldn’t even walk because my head would be spinning so bad from those damn pills and I’d have to stop for a second to compose myself.  This, in my opinion, was no way to live.  My grades suffered tremendously because I couldn’t understand anything that was being placed in front of me.  These medications made me stupid and I felt like I needed a person by my side at all times to help me make the simplest of decisions.  I can’t take these pills anymore and yet, it never fails – someone always tries to recommend a new medication to me.  “Well, have you tried this?  It works for me.” Yes.  Yes, I have tried it.  I have tried them all.  Wellbutrin, Effexor, Lexapro, Celexa, Prozac… the list goes on and on.  In fact, just thinking about how many different types of drugs I have pumped into my system the past few years makes me sick to my stomach.  Antidepressants obviously work wonders for some people, don’t get me wrong.  I’m just not one of them.  It’s any wonder my brain is able to function anymore. But, having said that, I honestly think I might have to get back on them eventually. For how long, who knows. There are just some dark periods I experience that literally feel like they’re killing me (and they probably are).

So what am I depressed about?  Joel, life, school, life, money, life, a job, life.  Myself.  Others.  My failures.  My weaknesses.  My overdue bills.  The trash piling up in my room.  My weight gain.  My weight loss.  My hair.  My skin.  Not having food to eat.  Not eating at all.  Not having a life like normal people.  Everything.  Nothing.  It’s the hardest thing in the world to describe.

…but then there’s the mania.  And that’s when life is fine.

That will be my next blog entry… when I’m actually experiencing it.  Because right now, I’m obviously not.