Random Thoughts and revelations

I was reading back over diaries I had written years ago, and I thought about how I get myself in such a mess.
In all of my diaries, it goes like this:-
I feel bad. I feel so very bad that I cannot function at all. My body is like, lets go! Lets get out of here now. Run. My thoughts do the same.
Then after about a day or two, I am done with feeling depressed now thank you very much and not functioning is not an option, because I am a single mum, and my daughter relies on me for everything, so I have to function. “I don’t have time to cry all day, I cannot lie in bed all day, my daughter needs me”. If I stayed in bed all day, she wouldn’t have food, she would be alone, she needs me.
So I pretend to function, I pretend I am super happy, I pretend you can actually pull yourself together, I will even crack a lot of jokes, I will rant about funny stuff (Funnily enough my daughter said to me the other day, “You are sooo funny when you’re not well”). People buy into my fake happiness even my doctors and nurses “Can’t be that bad, is able to make jokes about stuff, and laugh”.
Had you ever considered the fact that I might just be a good actress? No?
I can play a completely different mood to the one I am in, it comes from having an ED for years I think, I spent many a year feeling absolutely nothing but hungry, I was able to pretend I was happy then too, and sad, and excited, and everything. It’s EXHAUSTING pretending, but it’s doable and for me it’s as necessary as breathing because my daughter relies on me. “If you were depressed….” Um, I can still breathe when depressed, if I am able to breathe, I am able to still act. It’s as necessary as breathing.
I will hold on to the slightest thing that still makes me able to fake the happiness, whether that thing is healthy for me or super damaging, like not eating, or being obsessed with an idea or gaming or the internet. This can last for months, deep down I know I am depressed because nothing I am doing is fun anymore. Everything is a chore, but I do it anyway, because happy fun people do the stuff I’ve been doing, they make bracelets, they make pretty bullet journals, they buy lots of washi tape. It secretly makes me die inside because I am not finding it fun, it’s all like ironing or washing the dishes, something I’m doing to fool MYSELF that I am fine. It doesn’t work, but it fools other people pretty well, I don’t mean to lie to them, I’m trying to lie to myself and they are getting caught in a cross fire lie.
I still refuse to feel the thing I first felt, I still refuse to feel depressed so, I carry on with the faking, and pretending and hurting myself. I am not depressed, what are you talking about? I’m FINE.
The thing I’ve been using to make me fake happy starts to hurt me and take over my life.
I start feeling more numb, because those things do make you feel more numb.
I hit a brick wall, because I don’t want to hurt myself anymore, but I don’t want to feel anything either. “Maybe I deserve to be hurt anyway, because I’m such a horrible person for not being happy”.
I don’t think other people are horrible for being depressed, but I think I am.
There comes a point where I am at a cross roads, or I’m standing on top of a skyscraper, and I can either jump off and get more destructive, or deal with the depression I had in the first place.
I always jump.
Always.
Half way down, I realise this was a terrible idea, because the falling is easy, but the ground is fast approaching my face and I know it’s going to hurt, and I suddenly realise that means the end of everything. I don’t want the end of everything, I want the end of my depression. I cannot accept my depression. I don’t want to accept depression.
So half way down, I am asking for help, crying for help, and waiting for people to come save me. Nurses, doctors, etc. Help. Me.
Then they’re like, “Why the hell did you jump, AGAIN? You are so insightful, you KNOW what happens”
And I do, I know everything I need to know.
But it’s not about what happens in a few months time, I never ever think about the ground when I jump, even though I think it’s there, even though I even hit it once, it’s about this moment right now, and in the moment I do not care about the ground and “maybe the ground doesn’t even exist, I mean I’m on a skyscraper, for all I know there’s netting down there because I cannot see the ground from here, the ground is but a hypothesis of yours”, and I jump.
I’m like one of those people that phone 999 too many times (yeah don’t do that) “Um, guys? I fell off the skyscraper again, can you come save me from myself please?”
Doctors have even tried to block off my escape route by giving me “tools or whatever” and harnesses and proof that there’s a great big ground down there, I still get up there. “Um, guys? it happened again, I’m sorry, I know I’m being stupid* but you need to save me”.
Then the crisis team and doctors etc come in like firefighters with rope on the building trying to catch me and they’re like, “Just don’t jump, walk down the damn stairs ffs” and I’m like, “Don’t want to, it’s scary”, like jumping isn’t scary at all.

Crisis team think that maybe I wouldn’t get into such a mess if I just cried in front of my daughter once in a while and stopped pretending.
It would even be good for her, they said.

I think about it.
Then I realise they are right.
My daughter is 12, and currently suffering from depression, do you know how many times she’s seen me cry? A handful if that.
She’s crying one night because she is super depressed, and saying sorry, and I’m like, no, you should feel these things, it’s okay. You can’t help it. It’s important to feel what you feel. She does it, and I think she’s so brave.
I’m 34 and depressed at the exact same time, and I’m showing her that I, when depressed, hide it the f*** away, and pretend. That’s not what I should be teaching her. I tell her I’m not well, then crack a bunch of questionably terrible jokes, which thankfully she thinks are funny. Including writing her a fake note for PE, because she asked me, “Can you write me a note to get out of PE, because PE sucks, and my teachers suck (Disclaimer:- they don’t suck really, and she doesn’t even think that really but she just really hates PE)”. Lots of people on Facebook found the fake note funny.

But people have said things to me, and I held on to them like they were right without fact checking them. Her old teachers said things to me like, “No wonder she’s the way she is because of you”, and even though I realised how prejudiced they were towards me and anyone with a mental health issue, so their argument should have been thrown out, I thought, maybe it is bad for her to see me depressed? Maybe she’ll more likely be like me, if she’s around that?
I saw my dad depressed, I thought it was my fault, and now I am ill myself, I don’t want her to think I am depressed because of her, it’s not her fault, in fact, even in the depths of depression the only thing I still feel anything real for is her.
I know, that being around someone who is depressed doesn’t make you “Catch” depression, that’s not how that works.
Just like how people in the media are convinced looking at pictures of thin people causes eating disorders.
Lol, yeah, I didn’t have OCD until I saw an advert for Dettol antibacterial cleaner, I’ve cleaned my house so much my skin peels off my hands to get rid of germs… argh! Dettol it’s all your fault for showing me pictures of germs! FFS people. Come the f*** on.

So… all this rambling for this, how do I let myself feel this? Because I’m too scared.

 

 

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Categories: mental health

Tags: ,

1 reply

  1. You may be scared, but there is part of you that is very brave. All brave people are scared… Anyway, not much I can say, but just wanted to let you know that I listened 🙂

    Like

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