I seem to be the only person actively hoping that the Myans were right. A nice apocalypse would go down really well about now. In fact, couldn’t we just bring the schedule a little closer? Say, like, next Tuesday?
Facing ‘life as we know it’ or ‘the alternative’ (love a euphemism), why aren’t I embracing change? If I’m planning the destruction of my piteous being anyway, why not just sell the house and travel for thousands of South African Rands worth and then top myself. Even better, why don’t I borrow vast sums of dosh, live like there is (literally) no tomorrow and then send a picture of my chosen bottle of life-ending pills to my bank manager? Huh? Huh?
Why do people think that inviting me to parties will lift me out of the sads? Self: I feel like gnawing my wrists open and praying for Yahweh to stamp on my face. I know what I need! A room filled with strangers who want to get right off their narcissistic faces and ask me godawful meaningless questions like “how are you?” and “are you having FUN?” Do you really want to know? No! So fuck off.
There are lots of sad people out there. Lots. Was this always so? Have I just been a total arsehole for not noticing? And we all have names for deep black hole that we slide inexorably into: the black dog, The Nothing, the sads, the sea, the big blue, the wilderness, the darkness, the gray. Things get named. This interests me enormously. It implies a presence, a kind of physicality to what plagues us. We don’t name other emotional groups like this (do we? Not with a definite article, surely?) Which is comforting. Because it means it’s not ‘all in head’. If it’s named, it is. And so it isn’t just me. I haven’t made this up to get attention or to provide an excuse to lay about in bed all day. And so the naming makes me sigh a huge sigh of relief. This isn’t a figment. Make sense?
People don’t seem to react much to my profound statement “I have depression” (largely because of the melodramatic, mock-gothic tone I use – I’m still taking the piss a bit, in an effort to make it manageable.) However all of that changes when I idly suggest I might be pondering, in a most happily Plathian way, the most effective methods of making it stop. That seems to scare the crap out of people. I think I might have to reign back on that level of sharing.
Oh, and by the way, in case you’re wondering. No. This is not a cry for help. I wish it was. But it’s not. It’s just a rant. A vent. A whinge. When I start posting pictures of sad bunnies, you can start to worry.
The wind has been howling in Cape Town. For days. The violence of it makes me feel better. I like being shoved around on my forced marches (I’ve been taking forced marches, because apparently exercise helps). I like coming back looking like I’ve been in a blender. It makes my outsides look like something is going on, even if my insides are like a beige carpet. So I go outside. And take it.
This is a link to something that I have found useful on more than one occasion, please check it out, dear Dolce. x
http://www.metanoia.org/suicide/
Syncy, that’s an excellent link. I hope it helps you Dolce darlin’
Aaah my blossoms. All this is idle chit chat. I’m too curious about stuff to really *do* anything. The feeling is more that I wouldn’t be gutted if the world ended or a toaster fell in my bath. But I’m not going to press that button. I promise. But I do agree with the author of that link that recovering from those feelings is tough. It shifts one’s sense of self to know that kind of bleakness.
That link is still worth looking at, Dolce. x
And it may well be idle chatter but still, even wondering if one’s life is worth living is a painful thing. It’s surely an indication of some feelings of hopelessness and despair which are so hugely a part of depression.
Also, please excuse me: I don’t think ‘the sads’ is adequate to describe depression as although sadness is unquestionably a large part of depression, often we can be distracted by pleasant events when sad. Depression is much harder to ignore or forget even for a short while. And then there are the physical manfestations…
I do hope you are finding your way more easily now, Dolce. x
I read it, I did, I promise! And a lot of it resonated. Especially the bit about coping resources.
Thank you Syncie. I don’t mean to make light of this all. But I have to, a little bit, or it’s too raw. And with all things, I’m realising that depression is a spectrum. Fortunately, I’m probably a third of the way down; its managable, but fucking scary. And with still enough momentum to have sought help before I tipped over that half way mark. I don’t feel as bleak anymore. There is a bit of colour again. But I feel like I’ve crawled my way out, but I’ve still got my feet dangling over the precipice. So I’m doing the forced marches, taking the pills, going out, spending time with people who love me. Even when i don’t want to.
I wasn’t telling you off, darlin’.
You seem to be doing all the right things. I’m really glad you’re feeling a bit better. X
I know – sorry – so senstitive about it all that sometimes I get a little fatuous.
My cats of my howling wind. Or mewing wind. Whatever.
Some days, actually, most days Teva and Isabel are the only reason I get out of bed (or stay in it, but only because that’s what they want.) It’s really nice to be needed — to have someone depending on you for food and water and shelter and treats and toys and snuggling. And when you don’t want to get out of bed, or they don’t want you to get out of bed, it’s comforting to have company in the endeavor.
I have been considering a pet. Just to try and beat the loneliness. Not that I’m alone a lot. But I am lonely. And I miss snuggling. Quite a bit. Which has surprised me. Because I’m not really a massive cuddler. Who knew.
That’s some vent. First the rant, immediately followed by the old howling/violent wind metaphor. Easy does it, sailor.
Well, you know, I like a good windy rant.
Or a windy vent, for that matter. Much like Marilyn. Who also suffered the sads. But liked a good breeze up her pins.
naming it does seem to make it public… to take away some of the private power it wields inside.
sharing it with others should – in theory – do the same. but either they will get it or they won’t. and if you’re talking about offing yourself at parties, i think it’s extrordinary that you’re still getting invites!
but please don’t do it. we have holidays ahead of us, dear. in all of my global travels, i’ve never met anyone like you. and that ‘dog barking’ thing that you do? should be making you millions of dollars…
Yeah, I’ve got to shut up. I’m becoming a real downer for the social events. All the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. On the upside, have some cracking mates who dealing with similar stuff. We hang. Shoot the breeze. No pressure. It’s good.
I won’t, I promise. Too much world to see.
Sweetie, I see to have lost your snail mail address. Can you email it to me so i can post you something?
Will send forthwith. Will you be a Mail Nurse? Chortle. (see, sense of humour not totally lost).
Hemingway called it the Black Ass, i realized long ago that life is meaningless and pointless unless i somehow give it some meaning and point, not that i always did but i got and still get through it, you’ll do the same, i just have that gut feeling… and that gut feeling is pretty wise, kept me alive and out of jail for years.
Cackle. Maybe that’s what I missing? More reasons to keep myself out of jail.
Kono, you’re so spot on. I have to squeeze the fucking life out of life, otherwise it’s all just feeding the machine.
Naming it does take away some of its power. I try to see it as a battle against the chemicals, but even knowing it for what it is, and even knowing that even the darkest slumps come to an end, I still find myself feeling so bogged down with the unfairness of it all. Those fragile, vulnerable teary episodes are sometimes just as bad as the bleak ‘let me out of this’ ones. And that is exactly where the very dark thoughts of escape come from – it’s not about taking ourselves out of the equation more than just wanting it all to go away.
I was seriously considering moving myself away to a small town at the end of last year. One where no-one knew me, I had no history and I could just be away from everyone and everything. That would have been another form of suicide in a sense – but it was a turning point for me.
As for the reactions to the Big D, there are some people I know have my back. But others, even very good friends, have made me feel even worse after telling them. Reactions have varied from the usual ‘think positive thoughts’ brigade to lectures of how everyone struggles, and it’s probably just a phase.
Not what you need to hear when you are battling with one of the most isolating, soul-crushing things. As daisyfae says, some will get it and some won’t. Thank god there *are* people who do get it.
I love you Roxy. Thank you. Check your inbox. x x
Not only are you depressed but you sound quite angry too.
I loved your description of the party. Even as a non depressed person I have frequently felt exactly that way. How am I?? WHO are YOU? Jerk. Get away from me. etc.
Flip, I’ve been furious. But apparently that’s also a sign of the big D.
And those arseheads? Sigh!
Anger is good. It means you’re feeling. Nothing worse than being in that black hole and not giving a shit about anything or anyone. Just blackness.
A pet is a great idea! They’re always up for a cuddle and they never say anything to hurt you.
But what kind of pet? Kimodo dragon?