I don’t remember how old I was when my depression started, but I was fairly young. I’ve been playing Russian Roulette with anti depressants for as long as I can remember, just having them shot at me in hopes that one would work. I’ve been hospitalized. I’ve been in group homes. I’ve been in group therapy. I’ve been in outpatient therapy for years now. And yet, I’m still fucked up in the head.
I feel overwhelming hopelessness. Does it ever get better than this? Is this the life I’m destined to live? Let me tell you, life with depression is sucked. I have confirmed GAD, ED-NOS, PTSD, and Major Depression. If that looks like alphabet soup to you, that’s general anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder, and an eating disorder. I also have OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m currently on two medications. And they’re not helping. I’m in therapy. And it’s not helping.
What more can I do? What more do I do? Let me give you a peak at what it’s like. Let me give you an insight of what it’s like. It’s like you’re trying to reach out your hand for help, and you can see someone, something, anything in the distance, but it’s just barely out of grasp. You reach and you reach and you try to grab onto that something – that hope, that thing in the distance you’re hanging on for, but it’s just out of grasp. You can’t cling it. You can’t grasp onto it. And you’re feebly trying to hold onto it, but instead you’re just grasping at thin air.
It’s like you’re standing in the middle of a crowded room. People all around you, but you’re ignored. You’re invisible. No one sees you. No one sees the pain you’re hiding. The grief, the sorrow, the agony, the heartbreak.
You weep and you cry, alone. You’re broken. The pieces of the Lego kit don’t make the castle, it makes a broken puzzle. You try so hard to be whole, you try so hard to be COMPLETE, but something is missing. Something just isn’t there. You want it to be, oh, you want it to be, but it’s not.
You’re empty. Completely empty. You try to find things to fill you up – cutting, drinking, video games, movies, school, but nothing fills it. Instead, you become even more empty. Even more withdrawn. Even more depressed. Everything falls apart. Everything falls at your feet. You try so hard, so hard to hold it together, but you can’t.
You panic over everything. You freak over everything. You count things. You arrange things. You make things just so. You replay everything over and over in your head. Rewind the video tape, start it over. You check things constantly, because what if you didn’t lock that door? What if you didn’t turn off that oven? You taunt yourself with every possible thing that could go wrong, and you’re driving yourself nuts inside your own head.
Suicide sounds appealing. Not because you want to die, but because living is just too much. At times, it’s at the point where you don’t want to live but you don’t want to die. You just want to cease to exist. To pull into a cocoon, and rest and rest and rest. You want everything to go on around you, while you’re just hiding from the world. But at the same time, you want to be out in that world you’re hiding from. You want to be free from your thoughts and your chains and your baggage and your bondage and your past.
Sleep isn’t even a rest, sleep isn’t even a solace. Nightmares taught you, you struggle to fall asleep, you struggle to stay asleep. Tossing and turning, fear and panic. This is your every night. This is your life. This is how you are.
And this is what life with my mental health is life. This is just a small peak. I could go longer, but I doubt anyone gives a shit enough to read it. This is how I have to function. And I hate it. I hate every moment of it.