Polimicks

Leftist commentary from a mouthy bitch

Depression Sucks

Yeah, this is pretty accurate, actually.  (Melancholia by Constance-Marie Charpentier - 1801)

Yeah, this is pretty accurate, actually. (Melancholia by Constance-Marie Charpentier – 1801)

So, this is way overdue because, “Yay, depressive episode!”  Granted I didn’t recognize it as such this time around, because without the constant whirlpool of suck that was my last job, it manifested differently. This is a response I made to a post at Greta Christina’s blog:

I had a hard time recognizing my latest depressive episode as exactly that. I’m a year into a fantastic job that treats me really, really well, after 8 years working for a micro-manager with zero people skills and an emotionally abusive shithead who took out his marital problems on me. So, when the depression hit like a constant grey fuzziness leeching all the colors out of my world and feelings, I didn’t quite know what to do with it, or what it was. I had gotten used to depressive episodes that involved me sobbing in a fetal curl for two or more days, and popping clonazepam to try to kill the anxiety enough to deal with the depression.

I finally figured it out, “Oh, yeah, this was what it looked like when I didn’t hate my life constantly and wish for the sweet release of death because at least then my partner would get my life insurance.” Honestly, the greys are almost worse. The deep dark sobbing depression would really bottom me out for a day or two, but I’d bounce back into my usual state of anxiety-generated hypervigilance and awareness. It took me so long to realize what I was doing, and what was going on with the grey, that I kind of didn’t know how to cope.

I’m finally pulling myself out of it, and having to have a bunch of conversations with friends who don’t get why I suddenly disappeared for three months: “It’s not that I hate you when I’m like that. I hate me, and I don’t understand why anyone would want to hang out with me.” They invariably say, “You can call me when you feel like that.” “Yeah, if I were capable of doing more than looking at all the numbers in my phone and feeling like you’re all just nice to me out of politeness, and that I shouldn’t burden anyone else with my problems.” (thanks mom)

So, yeah, I’ve been living in a sort of grey, formless cloud for the last few months.  There are a couple of things that triggered it.  1. I have had a HELL of an allergy season and as a result have caught every fucking cold ever.  2. We’re re-org-ing at Dayjob, and while I know intellectually I’ll be fine, well my brain hates me.  3. The husband and I had a huge fight earlier this spring, in part over shit we should have resolved nearly fifteen fucking years ago, but didn’t because every time we’d try it would be a fight.  It just hit a head that we could no longer pretend wasn’t there.

The husband and I are fine.  The job is fine, better than fine.  The allergies are still not great.  I have not had to go to the emergency room, knock wood, but it was a damn close thing, and I’ll be honest, I probably should have.  Nothing triggers the depression like my body not working like I want it to.

I’ve also been having some body image bullshit going on in my head, but you know what?  Thanks to Modcloth I can buy awesome stylish clothes that fit, and I feel less gross out in public.  But at home… well, I’m working on it.  I can only handle people I don’t know well for short bursts of time.  And my creativity is kind of sluggish.

But things are getting better.

The thing about depression is, as I stated above, that I don’t hate my friends.  That isn’t why I don’t call them.  I don’t call them because I hate me and I cannot even conceive that other people don’t.  Really, it is beyond my comprehension that people who like me might actually like me when I hit the lows.  Sometimes this results in my being able to just throw caution to the wind and go do things any way because what do I have to lose?  But mostly it results in me hiding in my room doodling in a notebook because I can’t string two words together, or re-reading things over and over because I literally can’t wrap my head around whatever it is.

I do feel better now.  This week I attended a Happy Hour with co-workers, went to dinner and a concert with a friend, and today went to a party where I really only knew the hosts.  Granted, tomorrow I’m not leaving my house and you can’t make me, but it’s a vast improvement over panic attacks at the thought of having to talk to people I don’t know outside of a work capacity.

Depression fucking sucks.  It sucks all the joy and color out of your world.  It makes it impossible for you to really believe people might love or like you.  It robs you of your energy, and mental acuity.  It’s a thief, and it sucks.

Not looking for helpful suggestions.  I know how to best control it, I just haven’t been able to because of the stupid allergies and everything else.

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This entry was posted on June 29, 2014 by in Featured Articles, It's All About Me, Surviving.

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