Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Depression is the mother of all eff you's.

Well, today marks the three month "anniversary" of the last day I worked.  In those three months I've accomplished a whole lot of not much.  I've tried, I sincerely and truly have.  I get up everyday.  I go through all the motions of being a functioning, contributing member of society.  I brush my teeth, sometimes put on a bra, sit on the sofa, put something mindless on the television, go about searching down jobs that 427 other people are also applying for...and then I cry.  No, seriously, I cry.  A lot.  At some point I'd like to think I'll run out of tears.  I'd like to think that at some point I'll just snap out of it and remember how it feels to be happy.  At some point I'd absolutely love to find a fucking job. 
I miss money almost as much as I miss happiness.  My bills are piling up and our belts are all getting just a tiny bit tighter.  I'm not at all suggesting that we're starving, or even close to being close to starving.  I am waiting for my utilities to get shut off at any moment, but we're not starving.  I will fight to keep our lights on and a roof over our heads, but this fight is starting to wear me down.
I have approximately 3,968 moments of sheer anxiety, each and every day.  The vast majority of these happening at night, when I'm laying in bed, desperately searching for sleep.  Sleep alludes me on a regular basis, and yet somehow that's all I feel like I do.  I can assure you though, I don't.  I toss.  I turn.  I cry.  I sometimes vomit.  I worry.  I play the "what if" game.  I rehash every single decision I've made that's led me to this point.  I think about things that happened 14 years ago, in another lifetime.  I wonder if tomorrow will be the day I get a call about a job interview.  I wonder if tomorrow will be the day we lose our power.  Or the internet (truly my lifeline at this point!).  I wonder if my kids will be able to overcome their childhood and survive my raising them.  I wonder if I will.  And I panic.
I do this over and over and over.  It's become routine now.  I know I am in the depths of despair and I know how I got here.  I even know what I need to do to get past this.  However, I am stuck.  It feels like I'm stuck in quicksand.  It feels like the harder I struggle, the harder I try, the deeper and more desperate I get.  And time just doesn't seem to be my friend.  I know I've got lifelines, amazing friends who support me and what not. 
My friends are pretty awesome.  I know that some of them understand EXACTLY what I'm going through.  Some don't have a clue.  Some are probably really tired of having to help me out so damned much, or listen to me whine about all my first world problems.  Some of my friends do regular "well checks", message me, come by, do random nice things in hopes of cheering me up.
Yet, I feel horribly and utterly alone.  I know I've barricaded myself in my own little hidey hole and put up the "do not disturb" sign.  I know I'm not at all inviting at times.  I know people don't quite know how to deal with me right now.  I get it.  Hell, it wasn't all that long ago I was telling a friend that isolation is the WORST thing for you when you're depressed, and did my best to cheer them up.  But I somehow can't seem to cheer myself up and find it in me to interact with other humans.
Please believe I've tried.  I don't enjoy being the social equivalent of a groundhog.  I want to want to leave my hole, go outside and do things, get paid to leave my house for eight hours a day, have fun, and do more than just survive.
I want to live again.
I want it so fucking desperately. 
Great, I just realized how depressing that all sounds. 
I promise I'm not "hurt myself" depressed.  I get up every morning.  I face each day with hope that something, anything, will go my way.  I want that stupid scale to tip in my favor.  I don't need a lot.  Seriously.  A job and a few Xanax's (I'm fairly certain my script that expired in 2011 is more dangerous than helpful at this point...) and a few hundred dollars to get my bills paid.  I'm not greedy.  :-)
So if I seem not myself the next time we talk, please know that it's me, not you.  Please don't feel compelled to treat me like a ticking time bomb, I'm not going to explode.  Don't be afraid to ask me how I am doing.  I can certainly talk to you about my depression, I'm not shy.  Do feel free to give me a hug, cry with me, give me a job, pay a bill (dealer's choice as to which one!), and just be my friend.  I will get past this.  It's just going to take some time.  :-)
Well, that certainly was a whole lot of sad shit right there.  Sorry for being all Debbie Downer so early in the week.  But, it's kind of cathartic putting pen to paper (metaphorically) and writing down your thoughts/feelings.  So, I guess I'm really not all that sorry...

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