cosmicgirlie

spouting all the crap you never say out loud.

Depression

Yeah. Ok. Here it comes.

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Hello Slippery Slope.

I’ve been expecting you.

You took longer than I thought; it’s been a while since you were last here; easily sometime before Christmas, right? I think this is the longest you’ve been away.

So I’m not entirely surprised you’ve moved yourself into my travel path.

I’ve fought long and hard, and I know I should be proud of myself for going so long without having to deal with you. So long successfully fighting against you. No meds, no therapy, no intervention, just making sure I choose my life carefully. It’s not been easy, and I’ve almost made some fucking MAHOOSIVE mistakes which would have brought you on sooner. But it seems, I did ok.

Now, I’m not sure if you’re going to make a full appearance. I don’t know if you’re just going to linger for a bit, like the shitty bad smell that you are. I don’t know if you’re even going to get any more present than you already are. I feel like convincing myself that, in this state, you are manageable. However, I see my short temper with everything, my instant self-loathing, my instant hatred of everything, the suspicion that many think I’m an idiot, that feeling of being a punch bag to the world, the wanting to be accepted, the need for closeness, the rejection of everyone, the desperation to keep going, the urge to stop everything.

Everything.

When that urge comes, it’s really weird. I guess I don’t want to actually die…no I don’t think so. I just want to stop functioning. It would just be easier that way. Numb everything a bit, dumb it all down, lessen the senses. Dial it all down. Turn it all off.

Make it hurt less.

I guess it would be easier if everything just hurt a bit less. I guess it feels like I spend time strengthening my shields, and then I take a beating, all manner of shit in every form. At first I’m blissfully oblivious, and nothing bothers me. I’m not invincible, I’m just flying high and going the right way. Bullshit bounces off me, and changing direction, away from it, is really easy. But then I get slower, my defences get weaker. I get weaker. I can’t take as much as before, and it becomes easier to hide. And then I feel pathetic for hiding, and then the self loathing kicks in and…well. Here we are. Hello vicious circle.

Maybe the down time is when I can recharge. That’s always been my theory, my hope. That when I do go into the fucking horrible shut down state, that I’m just slowly rebuilding from the inside. I don’t always believe it, because every single time, I find myself wondering if I can start up again. Wondering if I can kick the mechanics back into gear.

In my “waking state”, shut down really scares me. The fact that I literally become a cabbage, unable to speak, move, eat, barely breathing, it scares me. Only 2 people in the whole world have seen me at that state. I don’t ever want it to be more than that. It scares me. I should keep fighting, keep going, like everyone will probably keep telling me. But it’s like being underwater, so deep, where no one can reach you at all. The only thing you can do, is try to find some way to breathe. And even that feels near impossible.

It scares me.

I’m tired. I wanted to be kick-ass this year, and now I feel like, in admitting all of this, I’ve just instantly let myself down. I should be able to work through this by now, I should have mastered this by now. I’ve been dealing with this for nearly 30 years. Why do I still let it get the better of me? Why the fuck am I even whining about it?

Fuck.

It’s time to Put On The Happy Face I guess. I don’t always put it on, sometimes it’s genuine.

It’s going to have to be a fake one for a few days. I hope it’s just a few days. Nothing more.

Um no, I DON’T HAVE TIME TO BE ILL.

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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!

No probs.

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.