Aside

Dear Depression:

Fuck you.

Sincerely, Me

 

Sometimes, the horrible horrible monster called depression comes and kicks me in the ass.  This weekend was one of those times.  I was sucked down the black hole and couldn’t get out, no matter how desperately I tried to claw my way back into the sunshine.  I tried to hide away in my room, because I knew that I was unable to stop the tears and the guttural sobbing and I don’t want my son to see.  When I’m in this place nothing can stem the anxiety that makes my stomach tie in knots, nothing can stop the feeling I get that something out of control awful is going to happen, and it’s all my fault.  I feel like happiness is an illusion that I will never achieve.  I wonder if I’ve ever really been happy?  I mean, sure, I’ve had glimpses, but when I’m in this state of mind it’s too far away and I can’t convince myself that I’ve ever felt true joy.  I slept a lot this weekend, because when I’m asleep I can’t feel and I’m not letting anyone down and my mind stops swirling for a while.  I didn’t go outside and play.  I didn’t take C. to the park.  I didn’t call my friends.  I didn’t walk the dog.  I didn’t do any of the things you’re supposed to do when you’re in the dark place, because when I’m there the very act of opening my eyes in the morning is too much, let alone dressing myself and going out into the world.

Everything came to a head on Sunday night, when I just couldn’t take it anymore.  C. was in bed and I was trying in vain to read a magazine but none of the words were making sense and I couldn’t read the type for the tears in my eyes.  A* touched my hand and I lost it; I sobbed and sobbed, soaking the front of his shirt while I clutched him for dear life.  He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to.  He’s been here before, and he knows that the only thing he can do is hold on, and he did.  He held me so tightly and didn’t say a word, and then when I was slowing down he handed me a bunch of tissues along with a smile.  He was there, and strangely, at that moment, that was enough.  I sniffed and snorted and calmed myself down, and we ended up having one of the best conversations we’ve had in a long time… not about depression, or my feelings, just about stuff and it was wonderful.  My swollen eyes could see a slight sunbeam through the clouds, and by the next day I HEAVED myself back out of the hole.  I may have to rest here on the dirt for a couple days, because being down in that hole makes me so unbelievably tired, but even laying in the dirt I can still see the blue sky and feel the air on my skin.  Jenny, who can make even the most miserable human laugh despite themselves, tells her readers that this will pass, and this is such a comforting thought for me.  It WILL pass.

I’m going to be alright, and once again I emerge. 

Down the Rabbit Hole

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