I feel an overwhelming wave of heartache and disappointment sweep over me. I cry for what seems like no reason at all. My mind races with the things I need to do, with endless lists of responsibilities that have no due date but are overdue. My thoughts are like strands of yarn tangled together and slowly writhing as some living, breathing mass of confusion. I try to grasp one at a time, but they move away from me and I lose them. I want to sleep – to hide away the hours so I don’t have to feel anything. But I can’t sleep. I can’t escape the thoughts of urgency, yet I feel hopeless to do anything about it. I am stuck in this space between needing to be productive – knowing what has to be done – and feeling powerless to get started. I feel like a failure, like it’s too late. I’ve worked so hard at trying to prove my worth through academic success – showing that I’m the best, but now everyone knows I’m weak and broken and a fake. I’m stuck between the urge to run away from everything, and feeling powerless to get away.
Do you know what's interesting about the lotus flower? It has to grow out of the scummy, silty, muddy bottom of a pond or river before it makes it to the water surface.
I hope that every time I sit down and write, when I embrace my vulnerability and share with others, that someone somewhere is getting something positive from this. I know that the things I’ve written are not positive or uplifting, but that’s all I can do right now. And “positive” is not my goal here. My goal is to put words and substance to something that is sometimes impossible to express. Depression is pain. It’s hopelessness, shame, embarrassment. It’s struggling to keep your head above the water in a rushing river that wants to drown you. It’s fighting against a force that, for some reason, has no inclination toward self-preservation – it wants grief, isolation and loneliness. But amid the mire, I want to validate and be validated. I want others to know that how it appears on the outside does not reflect what is happening on the inside (unless I’m a crumpled crying mass on the floor, then yeah. It’s exactly what it looks like).
How do I help you? I’ve been asked before how I can be supported when I’m in the mire. The answer is I don’t know. It’s a little of “leave me alone” and a little of “show me you love me.” And there is no consistency – sometimes it’s all “leave me alone.” This disease tells me I’m not worth the time, so I push people away. The worst remedy for isolation is more isolation, but that’s what my mind wants. The one thing I will always want, what I’ve always wanted more than anything, is acceptance. Acceptance for who I am, for being broken, for needing a little extra care and attention. And while I desperately seek to feel wanted, it is also important for others to know that I feel immense guilt for being “needy.” I’m the chore no one wants to do because it’s tedious and time-consuming. I feel like a burden and a pain in the ass, like people see me coming and run for the hills… It’s a frustrating dance between reaching out for connection, and slinking away from shame.
Persistent, slow, and small. Feeling like a burden is one big reason why I hide, so that I can save others the hassle of dealing with me and my endless array of emotional baggage. Maybe that’s more of the disease talking (the Beast, if you will). I mean, isolation is a lot more attainable when you push people away and there’s no one else around. But you also don’t need physical isolation to be really lonely. The mind tells you that you’re alone and unlovable for so long that you truly believe it, and no amount of reason can [easily] change that. So, something I ask of my people is to be persistent with me. Persistent, but slow. Small, even. I can’t speak for everyone fighting depression, but for me I need slow and small. “Hey, how’s it going?” “I thought about you today.” “I’m here if you need me, but no pressure.” I exist in a world [right now] that is heavy and overwhelming and thick, like the scene from The Neverending Story where Atreyu and Artax are trying to make their way through the swamp of sadness. Instead, I need some things in my life to be light and easy and small.
Hugs. Sometimes that light-easy-small thing is just a hug. I know there’s science in hugging. Any internet search will tell you about endorphins and “feel-good” chemicals that are released during meaningful contact (i.e. hugging). There is comfort and ease in a warm embrace. There is acceptance and belonging when someone else initiates the hug first. There’s love when the hug seems to last just a few seconds longer. There is a feeling that, although this person doesn’t know exactly how bad you’re hurting, they recognize that you are and they give a shit. I recently found out that NCSU’s social work department is full of huggers – great huggers, hugs that are easy, accepting, and loving…hugs that are initiated by other people, proving their intent and commitment. I don’t want to have a deep conversation about how I feel (that’s why I go see Erin every week). Having someone sit with me while I’m hurting is everything. I feel like you can be in someone’s pain and self-loathing without belonging to it, and I’ve got people in my life who know exactly how to do that.
Healed healers. I hear this term a lot, especially lately. I understand the concept behind it, but I struggle to identify with it. It’s the healed part that doesn’t mesh. I really want to believe people when they say that I will be a better, more in-tuned social worker because of my experiences, and maybe someday I’ll agree, but right now I hardly feel worthy. Yes, I can logically see that because of my experiences, I can understand what it’s like to live with mental illness. But feeling qualified or capable of helping someone else with their mess is totally a different thing. Inadequacy can be debilitating and I’m often crippled by it.
So, another long post, full of ramblings as promised. I am still settled in this same darkness. I’ve had these episodes before, but something about this one has made the Beast stronger and more persistent. But please don’t give up on me. I might not respond to your words of affirmation, and I may not believe them right away, but I do hear them. And some day those words will take hold and implant themselves into my heart and I will become them, as I once became those negative messages of my past (you’ll have to read previous posts to understand that). I want to be told that it’s okay to feel broken, or different, or defeated. And that’s really all I want. And hugs. More hugs.
