I'm a mess.
Depression is messy.
Hi. I'm EoS. Today is May 26, 2018 and I hate myself.
I feel detached from my body and only feel the pain.
I keep destroying things. I want to have friendships and relationships but I sabotage them because I hate myself more than anyone else could ever hate me.
I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the argument with hubs. Maybe it was him telling me that we either needed to see a therapist or get a divorce. That was the thing he said to me that hurt the most. We can't work this out ourselves?
I've already been divorced. I don't know that I wanna do it again.
What does that say about me, though?
That those are our options.
I didn't really cry while we were arguing. Even when he was standing up shouting at me, I didn't cry. I feel like, in the moment when things are happening, I forget to emote. I heard everything he said to me, I just didn't feel anything about it.
I don't feel anything about anything anymore. I could die and be fine with it. That isn't to say that I am in any way suicidal -- I'd just be cool with it if it happened.
But the kids. I smile for them. They fill me with genuine joy. Nothing else does as much as they do.
The people I chat with can get me to smile. Hubs can too, sometimes.
This is all a mess.
It's a mess.
I'm a mess.
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Talking Back To My Depression
I feel like it is necessary to put a trigger warning here. I talk a lot about what my depression says to me and how I feel about it. But, I'll put a page break of asterisks for where I talk about that so you can read around it.
Hi, I'm EoS and I have depression. I have had it for almost 20 years -- my first episode or spiral was when I was 14. I've battled it since then, sometimes giving in and wallowing and sometimes able to claw my way out from the depths of it. But most of the time, it's a dull ache, a quiet roar inside my head. I call it my voices because it is the easiest explanation:
****************************************
It's one voice, usually my voice, that whispers things at me.
You're not good enough.
No one wants you here.
Why are you talking? No one is going to listen.
Your problems aren't problems at all. You're just dramatic.
Sometimes the things it whispers are worse --
Just do it already.
No one's awake. Do it.
It likes to try to sound like it is being helpful. The kids will sleep until he comes home and they won't find you, he will. It'll be alright. You'll be past this. You won't hurt again.
**************************************
Depression is absolute garbage. I have dealt with it for as long as it would take to raise a child to adulthood. I've survived this long and I'm still not sure how.
But I told you all that to tell you this. I have spent the last year in the company of people I've grown to like and respect. In some cases, I could tell them I love them and mean it. Last night was rough for me. I've already been depressed -- deeply or not-so-deep -- for about 3 months. When I figure out I'm spiraling, I've been asking for help, asking for attention, or just plain reaching out.
Last night my depression told me to leave the room. It told me that I had nothing to contribute and that the people there weren't really listening. That I needed to shut up or they'd hate me.
My depression told me that someone I've been talking to doesn't really care about me. It told me that it was all lip service, that I'm a mess and that I just needed to leave the room and not come back. Delete the link. They won't miss you.
But for the first time in a long time, I told it no. I stayed. We laughed about something -- I laughed so hard I cried -- and we were laughing together.
I think the hardest thing I will ever do is tell my depression "no". It is so hard because it is so easy to give in. It's easy to stay in bed. It's easy to ignore my health and my physical wellness. But it is so hard to look at it and say, "No. These are people that I like, and if they didn't like me, they would have told me already. I'd get teased mercilessly. I'd feel bad about myself when I leave here and I don't. I literally spend every night with them. If they hated me, I'd know."
It lies to me about how I am as a parent. That I am fucking them up. They're going to hate me. They want to be with their dad when he's here because I am so awful at all this.
But that's not true either, is it? I work so hard for them -- to keep them fed and rested and happy and to teach them how to speak and how to listen. (She's in this thing right now where she loves to ignore when I tell her something and go and do something else and then tell me she didn't hear me.) But I do the best I can and get complimented on my parenting style all the time. But it doesn't stop my brain from whispering at me.
It lies to me about how I am as a wife. I work my ass off to make sure he can just relax at home and be calm and not have too much expected of him. I make sure we thank him for working as hard as he does and I make sure he knows the kids love him (and I do too, sometimes).
The point I'm trying to make is that my depression is a liar, and yours probably is, too. It, like Voldemort with Harry, wants us to be as alone as possible so we feel weak and unsupported, but there are people in our lives -- usually those who have been through similar things and similar feels -- who want us to not be as alone as they've been. They want us to feel loved and supported because we are.
What other people take for granted -- a healthy support system with people who are honest with you and listen to you, offering advice or just lending an ear -- is something that people with depression are convinced we don't deserve, so we push it away, telling ourselves that everyone else always has an ulterior motive. And a lot of the time, this also ties in with the fact that we have abandoned ourselves because we didn't have a choice: someone somewhere along the line told us that we weren't depressed and that we were being dramatic or exhibiting attention seeking behaviors, so we cut off the part of us that should have been dealing with the depression, causing us to spiral.
Pro tip: Don't ever tell someone they're not depressed. Don't mock their hurt without ever sitting down with them and discussing what's really going on. Don't belittle their experience.
I end on a TL;DR and this note: Last night, I told my depression No and decided to believe that people love me. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and it felt so good, I think I'm going to do it all the time.
Hi, I'm EoS and I have depression. I have had it for almost 20 years -- my first episode or spiral was when I was 14. I've battled it since then, sometimes giving in and wallowing and sometimes able to claw my way out from the depths of it. But most of the time, it's a dull ache, a quiet roar inside my head. I call it my voices because it is the easiest explanation:
****************************************
It's one voice, usually my voice, that whispers things at me.
You're not good enough.
No one wants you here.
Why are you talking? No one is going to listen.
Your problems aren't problems at all. You're just dramatic.
Sometimes the things it whispers are worse --
Just do it already.
No one's awake. Do it.
It likes to try to sound like it is being helpful. The kids will sleep until he comes home and they won't find you, he will. It'll be alright. You'll be past this. You won't hurt again.
**************************************
Depression is absolute garbage. I have dealt with it for as long as it would take to raise a child to adulthood. I've survived this long and I'm still not sure how.
But I told you all that to tell you this. I have spent the last year in the company of people I've grown to like and respect. In some cases, I could tell them I love them and mean it. Last night was rough for me. I've already been depressed -- deeply or not-so-deep -- for about 3 months. When I figure out I'm spiraling, I've been asking for help, asking for attention, or just plain reaching out.
Last night my depression told me to leave the room. It told me that I had nothing to contribute and that the people there weren't really listening. That I needed to shut up or they'd hate me.
My depression told me that someone I've been talking to doesn't really care about me. It told me that it was all lip service, that I'm a mess and that I just needed to leave the room and not come back. Delete the link. They won't miss you.
But for the first time in a long time, I told it no. I stayed. We laughed about something -- I laughed so hard I cried -- and we were laughing together.
I think the hardest thing I will ever do is tell my depression "no". It is so hard because it is so easy to give in. It's easy to stay in bed. It's easy to ignore my health and my physical wellness. But it is so hard to look at it and say, "No. These are people that I like, and if they didn't like me, they would have told me already. I'd get teased mercilessly. I'd feel bad about myself when I leave here and I don't. I literally spend every night with them. If they hated me, I'd know."
It lies to me about how I am as a parent. That I am fucking them up. They're going to hate me. They want to be with their dad when he's here because I am so awful at all this.
But that's not true either, is it? I work so hard for them -- to keep them fed and rested and happy and to teach them how to speak and how to listen. (She's in this thing right now where she loves to ignore when I tell her something and go and do something else and then tell me she didn't hear me.) But I do the best I can and get complimented on my parenting style all the time. But it doesn't stop my brain from whispering at me.
It lies to me about how I am as a wife. I work my ass off to make sure he can just relax at home and be calm and not have too much expected of him. I make sure we thank him for working as hard as he does and I make sure he knows the kids love him (and I do too, sometimes).
The point I'm trying to make is that my depression is a liar, and yours probably is, too. It, like Voldemort with Harry, wants us to be as alone as possible so we feel weak and unsupported, but there are people in our lives -- usually those who have been through similar things and similar feels -- who want us to not be as alone as they've been. They want us to feel loved and supported because we are.
What other people take for granted -- a healthy support system with people who are honest with you and listen to you, offering advice or just lending an ear -- is something that people with depression are convinced we don't deserve, so we push it away, telling ourselves that everyone else always has an ulterior motive. And a lot of the time, this also ties in with the fact that we have abandoned ourselves because we didn't have a choice: someone somewhere along the line told us that we weren't depressed and that we were being dramatic or exhibiting attention seeking behaviors, so we cut off the part of us that should have been dealing with the depression, causing us to spiral.
Pro tip: Don't ever tell someone they're not depressed. Don't mock their hurt without ever sitting down with them and discussing what's really going on. Don't belittle their experience.
I end on a TL;DR and this note: Last night, I told my depression No and decided to believe that people love me. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and it felt so good, I think I'm going to do it all the time.
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