It’s been gone a while. And yet all the time, I (weirdly) wake up expecting to be ill. Like it’s some kinda bitch, taunting me, waiting to shit on my face while I sleep so I find it in the morning.
That’s putting it nicely.
Fact is, 2012 into 2013 has been very good to me, so I haven’t had time to be ill. I don’t have time to be depressed.
What’s really shitty is watching a number of my friends, recently, succumb to the hideousness of feeling the worst. It fucks me off because weirdly, I’m almost “too well” to remember what it’s like to be seriously, really ill. And even worse, I want SO BADLY to help my friends who are currently suffering. How do I? I want to relate to them, I know I can relate to them, but I can’t remember how to relate to them without sounding like the assholes I despise when I AM ILL.
“It’s ok, I totally understand how you’re feeling”. (No you don’t, you haven’t got a clue.)
“I’m always here, you just need to call or text me.” (Pfffft like I can even say my own goddamn name out loud right now.)
“Always thinking of you. Honestly.” (Uh huh, sure, right until you get on with your own life and forget about me. Geeze.)
These are the thoughts and feelings I dread. I can almost cope with the suffocation of depression, just because I’ve dealt with it for a stupid number of years now. But I can’t deal with what everyone else thinks. And so, how am I to deal with that, when I have to bear in mind that I need to be a social person for work purposes?
Truth is, I am terrified of being ill now I’m reaching my element. The thought of being mentally comatose and physically paralysed, while I have to (and want to) maintain that ridiculous air of excitement around weddings…how do I do that? The excitement I emanate before each wedding is always genuine. I get such good feelings and run on such a high with them, it’s almost euphoric. But something clicked in my mind last week, which made me wonder if I’m going to ride the wave of mild bi-polar, and come crashing into the world of HOLY SHIT MAKE IT ALL STOP NOW PLEASE AND THANK YOU BECAUSE IT’S TIME TO HIDE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PIT WHERE IT’S SAFE AND NO ONE WILL EXPECT ANYTHING AND ALSO IT’S OK TO DIE DOWN THERE BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE ALL THE SOUL-LESS SOULS GO.
Sensible, well-balanced, healthy people will tell me to “stop worrying about it and just get on with life”. OHHHHHH is that what I have to do? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Also didn’t know it was that easy. I’ll just shut down my perfectly normal worrying nature, and pretend it doesn’t exist. Fo sho!
Only, when I do step off the edge of that dark hole, and plummet head first down into the slippery slope of DEATH AND DESTRUCTION AND DOOM, should I, um, act surprised? “Oh my goodness! What is this lack of emotion I am feeling? Is this depression? Is this what it is? Well oh deary me, I didn’t expect that! Oh dear whatever shall I do.”
That shit ain’t gonna fly.
Thing is, it’s always on my mind. ALWAYS. Not a day goes by when I wonder “right. I’m fucking stoked about yet another wedding it’s gonna be ACE I can’t fucking wait and ohhhhhhhhhh god I want to sit on the kitchen floor just out of reach of all tablets and think about thinking about killing myself or making me sleep for a few years cos that’s easier or maybe perhaps I’ll just lie here like a cabbage not saying or doing anything and barely breathing because that’s just toooo haaaaaaarrrrrrrd.” It will come back.
I don’t have time for it.
I’m not sure if I should MAKE time for it. Brace myself maybe.
It will come back.
That old bastard will be back.
It's kind of like they talk about alcoholism isn't it? I'd never realised that before. So although I've been not fully sleep for a month depressed for 20 years, having instead just occasional flirtations with paralysing anxiety and a few months here and there of space cadet missing the planet wrung outness, I can't ever really trust that it won't ever happen again.
That's not actually a desperately comforting thought. Though it does indeed make sense. So thank you for that.
I wish I could describe it as 20 years sober, like they say 20 years dry.
That was supposed to say 20 years happy. How did I type sober?